


What Is Lost

by Konori



Series: What Is Lost - Story, Scenes, and Shorts [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Issues, BAMF Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark has Magic and he hates it, but he's through with everyone's shit, mental manipulation, really really hates it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konori/pseuds/Konori
Summary: After Ultron, Tony just can’t seem to catch a break. Between nightmares worse than those he got from Afghanistan, and the team suddenly treating him like yesterday's trash, the genius is at his wits end.Stark men are made of Iron?“Fuck that, I’m fucking Proto-Adamantium.”





	1. Losing My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this Fandom. Decided to dip my toes into it and see how it goes. Let me know what you guys think in the comments!
> 
> This is unbetaed, so if anyone finds errors, please point them out to me! Depending on the response to this story I might ask for a beta reader in the future.
> 
> Other notes:  
> ~italics~ = voices/telepathic voices  
> (italics) = thoughts/visions within the mind

~ _I had strings,_ ~

Tony wakes up screaming, ripping the blankets off his legs before stumbling out of bed and to the bathroom. He collapses against the toilet just in time. Dinner doesn’t taste so great coming back up. Sweaty and panting, he leans his forehead against the seat, hands gripping the back hard enough to ache. Someone… someone is talking… where? The tower, he remembers that… ( _JARVIS_ )?

“Sir.”

~ _but now I’m free._ ~

“Yea, JARVIS?”

“... It’s FRIDAY, Boss.”

~ _I had to kill the other guy… He was a good guy._ ~

Tony’s entire body jerks as reality slams into him; wrenches a sob from his burning throat before he can shut it down. His muscles quiver beneath his skin with the effort he’s exerting to keep himself held together. 

_Stark men are made of Iron, boy!_

Tony can’t help but scoff. 

( _Iron rusts and crumbles, old man._ )

“Right, right…” he murmurs before pushing himself up off the tile floor on shaky legs, his chest aching like it’s missing a piece that’s supposed to be there. “What time is it?”

“Five a.m., Boss.”

“How long?”

“You were asleep for two hours this time.”

“Might as well get started.”

“Boss, you need to get more rest before-”

“I’m _not_ going back to bed, mother-hen,” he sighs before washing out his mouth. His eyes rise up and meet him in the mirror.

Dark bags; messy, greasy hair; pale skin and bloodshot eyes.

~ _There are no strings on me._ ~

“Mornin’ beautiful,” he grumbles before splashing cold water on his face.

Six months of constant night terrors. Six months of trying to drown them in work or alcohol. Fuckin’ Afghanistan. Fuckin’ hole in the sky. ( _Fuckin’ psycho-child Ultron._ )

With a tired sigh he gets into the shower ( _no more baths, not ever again, not since god damn **Afghanistan**_ ) and soaks in the heat. Night terrors left him freezing from the inside out. Good thing the tower never runs out of hot water.

Some amount of time later, after he’s warmed enough to finish bathing, he steps out, towels off, and shuffles into his bedroom, dropping the towel in the hamper on the way out. Ignoring his rumpled bed, he grabs clothes from his dresser -grease-stained Black Sabbath t-shirt over a long-sleeve and track pants- and puts them on. He still hasn’t gotten out of the habit of double layering to mute the glow of the reactor that’s not even there anymore.

It had been a part of him; it had been his _reminder_. But Pepper insisted, and he couldn’t not have removed it if he wanted to keep their relationship from crumbling, especially after the Mandarin shit-storm and ignorantly shoving her into so much danger. He still has nightmares of her falling and never coming back ( _her body broken, skin blackened with burns and her eyes staring into nothing forever_ ). Unfortunately, it seemed Ultron -it always came back to Ultron- was the last cannonball to sink the ship of his and Pepper’s relationship ( _I wasn’t the only one who created that bastard, Pepper, please, it wasn’t only my fault!_ ).

That was five months ago.

The others left him too in some way shortly after.

Steve had invited the witch to join the Avengers despite his arguments with the Captain. How could Steve and the others not question her loyalty as a former Hydra volunteer? Was she not going to be held accountable for what she did to Bruce and the team? What about her absolute hatred for all things Stark ( _what about **me** , Steve?_)? He couldn’t trust her, not after what she made him see; made him _feel_. He tried to tell them what had happened with Ultron, but Steve, Natasha, the others… they wouldn’t _listen_. Years of working together, of him covering their backs and having his input at least considered, you’d think what he has to say would at least garner a bit more than a glare and being told to get over himself! After a month of trying to convince them to at least have her evaluated by a psychologist ( _she’s too powerful to not know her state of mind_ ), he’d decided to step down. His nightmares were riding him hard, leaving him exhausted and twitching every time Wanda flicked her fingers. He wasn’t able to get anything _done_ that needed doing for Stark International or the Avengers and the disregard the team had for him just kept growing. ( _None of them asked how I was doing._ )

So he left the day Thor returned to Asgard. Returned to the Tower and was finally able to _sleep_ more than two hours a night. He got things _done_. He missed the team, but he needed to breathe again.

That had lasted all of three weeks.

Pepper broke up with him and returned to Malibu. He didn’t tell anyone but Rhodey.

Then Steve decided to move them all back to the Tower despite the compound outfitted for them upstate. Tony didn’t understand why. He officially and publicly stepped back from the team when their subtle anger -no doubt caused because of Ultron- ( _why wouldn’t they let me **explain** like Hill, Fury, the fucking government of Sokovia, the U.N. and the U.S. did?_ ) and disregard for his health drove him from the compound those weeks ago. Really, going on full-time active-duty, non-combatant, consultant was the best decision he had ever made for himself in light of Wanda’s recruitment. Removing S.I. as the Avenger’s backer was also his decision after Sokovia to protect the company and her employees from his fuck-ups. The stocks had been fluctuating too much and too often to keep the company healthy and the employees happy. Removing himself from active-duty -baring world-ending events- and working would keep him busy between gear upgrades so that he would _have_ the funds the Avengers needed. Even he knew that if he didn’t work, there just wasn’t enough from charity events and galas to fund the Avengers long term once he had S.I. withdraw. Not without the government assistance that they lost when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.

At first, he had thought it was because they’d missed him too and found the Tower more comfortable. After the first few weeks, that notion was completely destroyed. The other Avengers ( _not my family, not anymore, can’t call them that, **I fucked up**_ ) had made themselves scarce or bristled like outraged cats whenever he emerges from the towers’ workshop. The Birdbrain and Nat seem to have run back to whatever was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. most of the time when not staying on the farm with Clint's family. Capsicle was roaming around the city doing who knows what -he could ask FRIDAY, but he’d rather not. Thor was visiting Jane Foster whenever he found time to visit this wee mortal realm. Vision and Wanda were usually training or talking, and Bruce… well… 

His nightmares were back in full force now.

He doesn’t blame them. Usually, he would be fine with their scorn, but he’d had Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy then. Now Rhodey was always doing something for the military that lasted days if not weeks and hadn’t called in months like he usually would. Happy was still recovering in the hospital from that Mandarin shit. Pepper… he was lucky she decided to stay as his CEO after what he caused -she moved back across the country to get away from him; runs S.I. from there. He knows it’s been hell for her and the company after this latest shit show. It’s why he’s been drowning himself in S.I. projects and humanitarian endeavors aside from Sokovia’s restoration ( _I haven't seen any of the others there. Are they helping where I'm not? Do they even **care** about the people?_ ).

 _He was aban_ \- alone _again_.

All he has are his bots and FRIDAY now, and wasn’t that just the most depressing thing ever.

“Fri, have my schematics up in the lab. I’ll be down after I grab my lifeblood.”

“Of course, Boss.”

They both know why he’s bothering with the communal floor instead of the brewer in the workshop he installed when the others scorn got to be too much one month. He needed some human contact, even if it wasn’t _good_ contact. He’d been trying to bridge the gap with the team for two months, and he just couldn’t bring himself to go out and bring someone back just for a night of meaningless fucking. The night terrors just keep getting worse, and it’s driving him up the wall, seriously hampering his libido, and fucking up his _productivity_.

Certainly they could _see_ that at least? Just _talk_ to him like he hadn’t almost destroyed the world ( _it wasn’t just **me** goddammit why can’t I get that through my head_ )? At this rate he was going to lose it and do something even _more_ stupid!

Clint was in the kitchen sipping on coffee when he exits the elevator.

“Hawkeye! My favorite bird! Listen I’ve got some things I want to show-”

“Can’t today, Stark.”

Tony only just keeps himself from flinching. He’s been _Stark_ for six months now; no one calls him Tony anymore. Not since the day Thor left Earth.

“Right, well just let me know when, yea?”

The assassin just grunts as he pours out what was left in his cup ( _Birdbrain never does that, coffee is **lifeblood** for us both; why would he **dump** it?_ ) before making his way to the elevator. He gives Tony a wide berth; doesn’t see the grin being wiped from the engineer’s face or brown-gold eyes staring ahead blankly as the doors close behind him.

Tony makes his way to the coffee brewer, grumbling under his breath as he sees it’s empty. Feathered bastard didn’t even have the decency to brew any more. Grabbing the needed supplies, he gets another batch started before leaning against the counter and staring out the floor to ceiling windows. The hazy New York skyline is all he can see, the sun’s not even out yet. The only thing he can hear is the quiet brewing of the coffee and… straining his ears, he can catch a voice from the conference area of the floor. Curious and eager, he makes his way around the kitchen island and to the conference table.

Natasha sits in one of the chairs, leaned back with booted feet on the table as she talks to someone on her phone. He moves around the table to sit in front of her when she suddenly stops talking and covers the mic on the phone.

“Go away, Stark.”

“But I just-”

“Now.”

He puts on a show of sighing loudly while rolling his eyes before leaving back to the kitchen, knowing better than to push his luck with _this_ assassin. He wants to believe Nat was just talking to someone important. He wants so badly to believe that they all weren’t avoiding him like he was a plague-bearing rat, but he’s too much of a realist for that. He sometimes feels like his genius is more of a curse than a strength. 

Grabbing two mugs of coffee, he rides the elevator back to the workshop.

“FRIDAY, ring Bruce up.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Through the speakers he listens as it rings before it clicks with someone connecting the call. His heart races.

“Bruce! Brucie! How are-”

Some language he vaguely recognizes as Hindi comes through the speakers, the tone questioning.

“Sorry! Wrong number.”

FRIDAY silently cuts the call. The elevator is quiet.

“I can do this,” he mutters to himself, sipping on the coffee. “I can do this, I’ve done it before. Stark men are made of Iron.”

Entering his sanctuary, he loses himself in his projects and bots for hours. 

At least they won’t leave him ( _not like JARVIS, never again like JARVIS. I had FRIDAY make back-ups of her back-ups on several different servers at multiple S.I. properties and several of my personal ones_ ).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He only leaves the shop when his A.I. shuts down all of his projects and locks them down.

“JARVIS! I wasn’t done here!” he whines as he pushes away from the worktable and spins around in his chair.

“It’s FRIDAY, sir.”

“Bah!”

“Boss, you need to eat.”

“I will when I finish-”

“Sir, I have prepared your usual sandwiches, but Butterfingers has been too busy with you to fetch them. Please proceed to the elevator and get them from the communal kitchen. The power to the room will be restored after you have eaten and have had some water.”

“Ugh! Fine! I don’t remember programming you to be so demanding.”

“I’m following all protocols you implemented, Boss.”

“Lies! Where on Earth did you learn so much sass?”

“It’s a mystery, Boss.”

Arriving on the shared floor, he exits the elevator to see Steve sitting at the island, talking on his phone as he munches on another plate of sandwiches.

“No, I can do Thursday,” Steve says to whoever it is.

Grinning, he makes his way over, grabbing the other plate on the counter and leaning against it as Capsicle listens to his caller. Taking a bite out of a sandwich, Tony wiggles his fingers at him in greeting when the soldier looks up from the paperwork sitting in front of him. Blue eyes fall back to the paper like they hadn’t even seen him.

Hope being slowly strangled in his chest, he uses a finger to drag the paper to him and see what the good Cap is working on when a large hand smacks his away with force. Pulling back his throbbing hand and looking up to see blue eyes glaring at him, Tony takes a step back. He feels cold down to his bones.

“That’s not for you, Stark.”

“Right, sorry,” Tony manages to get out, eyes still wide as they look at the soldier.

He grabs his plate and goes back to the elevator. Something in his chest roils dangerously, threatening to break out and do _something_.

“Penthouse, Fri.”

“Of course, Boss,” FRIDAY says ( _she sounds so sad, she shouldn’t be sad_ ).

He barely registers his feet wandering over to his bed, or setting the plate on the nightstand, sandwiches forgotten. Lying on his side, he stares blankly at the opposite wall. Something in his mind fighting against that rippling danger in his chest. He’s not like this... he’s stronger than this. ( _Why am I letting them treat me like this? Ultron wasn’t entirely my fault!_ )

( _What is going on?_ )

“I can do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ _Worthy… No, how could you be worthy?_ ~

Scream. Toilet. Mirror.

~ _You’re all killers…_ ~

Story of his life, really. 

“Time?”

“Midnight, sir.”

~ _You want to save the world,_ ~

“How long?”

“Six hours.”

He looks up at the nearest camera ( _his mind freaking out and chanting **Ultron** , but he knows better, and the thing in his chest feels like it’s trying to **rip** through his ribs and flesh to get out_ ).

~ _but you don’t want it to change._ ~

“I took the liberty of adding in a mild sleep aid to your lunch. As you didn’t finish it, you only slept half of the time you would have,” his girl adds without a word from him ( _I’m so proud of you, but why can’t I **feel** it?!_ ).

“Drugging me now, FRIDAY?”

“It’s the only effective method I calculated would get you through more than two hours of sleep. JARVIS’ records show he had to do something similar a time or two.”

~ _You’re all puppets…_ ~

“Yea… Thanks, baby girl,” he says, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. Fuckin’ Ultron… 

“You are welcome, Boss.”

~ _tangled in… strings._ ~

His smile feels fragile, plastered on his face like a piece of paper as he goes about his routine. Normally he would have been in the lab for another three days but…

~ _There are no strings on me._ ~

He jerks himself as though to shake off all the pain of yesterday.

“Can I use the shop now, mom?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“You are a godsend, Fri.”

“After you eat.”

“Brat!” he says with a laugh, grabbing a fresh looking sandwich from the nightstand and shoving it into his mouth. “Did you send Dum-E up here with that?”

“It’s not like I have hands. You should eat a proper meal, Boss.”

“Later. I ate. You said after I ate.”

Tony gets the feeling like FRIDAY was sighing and questioning life choices -though seeing as how she is only some months old and has _just_ decided to drug him; questioning life choices was illogical.

“I did, Boss.”

“To the lab!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another forceful ejection from his sanctuary fifty hours later finds Tony again on the shared floor, grabbing snacks out from the refrigerator. It’s noon, but it looks like no one had been in.

“Fri, where’s everyone at?”

Silence.

“FRIDAY?”

“They were summoned for a mission, sir.”

Tony freezes, eyes staring blindly at the fridge door. ( _They wouldn’t, would they?_ )

“When,” he clears his throat when that come out hoarsely. “When were the Avengers called?”

“Nearly twelve hours ago, sir.”

“And you didn’t tell me we were called?!”

“Boss… I was monitoring outgoing calls for the Avengers like you asked me. Captain America only called the Black Widow, Hawkeye, Vision, Falcon, and Scarlet Witch as the Hulk and Thor are out of contact. As you were not called, I did not want you to worry while you were working with volatile substances.”

The pit that had been growing in his stomach gapes vast and fathomless. He can’t think. Why can’t he think?

~ _You’re all puppets…_ ~

“Sir, you’re vitals are approaching panic attack levels. Please sit down immediately,” FRIDAY’s voice ( _Is she worried? Why is she worried?_ ) cuts through the fog.

“What?”

“Sit down, Boss.”

( _Oh._ )

He nods, using the counter isle to keep his face from meeting the floor until he’s next to a chair. He sits and immediately buries his head in his arms on the counter.

“I can do this. I can do this,” FRIDAY hears her creator whispering to himself as he stays where he is, taking deep calculated breaths, his food forgotten.

~ _tangled in… strings._ ~

His body is trembling, and he gets the urge, the need, for a hug. A Bruce Hug. A _Hulk_ hug. Those all-encompassing ones where he feels like there’s at least one person on his side.

“FRIDAY, track down Banner’s new phone number and update his contact list when you do. Also, encrypt it for him so no one but me can track him down. What’s the eta on the Avengers?”

“They will be arriving in two hours, Boss.”

Tony takes a few more steady breaths. Something wasn’t right, his chest _ached_ and the thing that's settled there feels like it's _tearing_ through his ribs, his lungs, his fucking _heart_ and heading to his brain. His brain -his never silent, always running, fucking brain- ( _would it please slow down so I can sleep?!_ ) wasn’t acting normal. Well, his equivalent of normal. He used to be able to _think_ more than enough to give Prof. Xavier fucking migraines for days. When did it start? It was fine before Wanda screwed with his head and set all his fight or flight instincts on overdrive. He could only _focus_ on it, and it convinced him to reboot a scrapped project and drag Bruce with him into creating franken-bot ( _hasn’t told anyone, can’t tell anyone, they won’t **listen** , they’re on her side_) and… wait… 

His blood, his _brain_ , feels like it’s been injected with liquid nitrogen and he can finally _think_ for the first time in months.

“What the fuck is this? I’m not like this. This is like when-”

He slowly lifts his head from his arms, shoulders and back tense as he stares at the wall. FRIDAY watches as her creator's eyes -eyes that she had noticed seem to flicker red but reviewing records shows _nothing_ \- narrow and shutter as the man’s brain reaches some conclusion she can’t follow. His eyes flit around as though reading something only he can see before them, his frown growing deeper and colder the longer he stays silent.

“It fits. Can’t prove it… not yet… unconscious? Need space tech… maybe…” he mumbles to himself in half-formed sentences FRIDAY can only guess as to what they relate to.

Her creator heaves then looks up at the nearest camera. His eyes _burn_ like they had before Ultron ( _before JARVIS…_ ). 

“Two hours you said? Good, good, I’m sick of this. This ends today.”

~ _There are no strings on me._ ~

“Happy to hear that, Boss.”

And, honestly, FRIDAY is as happy as she has learned to be. Her creator -for all technicalities, her _father_ \- did not deserve this treatment from those he had considered teammates ( _family_ ). He housed them, fed them, kept them safe and gave them upgrades for their gear, and for what? None of them had thanked him. Some of them actively disliked him even before Ultron came into existence according to JARVIS’ records.

Her creator had sacrificed much ( _he gave up JARVIS just to keep everyone safe_ ) for these people and had nothing but scorn and abandonment to show for it.

It was high time they learned just how generous Tony had been, and just how ruthless the genius billionaire Tony _Stark_ could be.

~ _There are no strings on me!_ ~


	2. Glamour Cloaked Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to forget a predator isn't tamed when they're content. Easier still if you've never seen it wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other notes:  
> ~italics~ = voices/telepathic voices  
> 'italics' = longer thoughts/visions within the mind  
> (italic) = short thoughts

When Natasha exits the elevator onto the shared floor about fourteen hours after the Assemble call, she's ready to grab a stiff drink and soak in her tub for an hour. She turns to Clint, about to ask him if he wants a drink too, when something dark slithers down her spine, causing her weary muscles to tense in discomfort as her heart speeds up. The rest of her team follows her out, oblivious to her sudden unease and still grumbling among themselves about what happened not an hour earlier; many of them still nursing their various wounds, exhaustion, or frustration. Wounds -she thinks with numb bitterness despite her sudden wariness- they wouldn’t have if Steve hadn’t dragged everyone into his campaign to keep Stark in line. Six months ago, Steve’s reasoning seemed fair when it _had_ looked like Stark needed reigning in. After two months, she had voiced concerns over his rationale and the effectiveness of this ‘leash’, only to find out his actions were a means of enforced penance for ‘those in Sokovia’ ( _for Wanda_ ).

_‘Why did I not push harder; ask more questions?’_

Four months later, she feels a muted resentment for the super soldier’s need to dispense this twisted form of ‘justice’ ( _this isn’t justice_ ). She watched Stark’s declining mental and physical health with vague concern but couldn’t bring herself to try any harder than she had those months ago. No one deserved this, especially not a _civilian_ who’s already been through torture before. She _knows_ she would be ripping Steve and the others apart if they were to do this to Clint. But she’s... _compelled_ not to disobey Fury’s last order to follow Rogers to the point she’s disregarding the health of a teammate and the first friend she’s gained since Clint.

_‘I don’t do that, why am I doing this to Stark?’_

But the air on the shared floor is charged... _volatile_. Only Natasha seems to feel it. Her hands twitch with the need to charge her Window Bites, and all of her muscles clench tighter as her gut screams that they have just walked into a predator’s den. Green eyes dart around, looking for anything disturbed or broken.

_‘Had an enemy infiltrated the Tower and taken Stark? Is he alive? Why am I not more concerned?!’_

Several scenarios flit through her head before she carefully rounds the corner and freezes.

Stark is sitting at the kitchen isle, tapping away on a StarkPad and eating a sandwich.

_‘Vot der’mo…’_

The team almost bumps into her.

“Nat-”

“How’d the mission go?”

The way he asks makes her heartbeat pick up. He hasn’t looked up from the tablet illuminating his gaunt face, hasn’t stopped working or eating. Hasn’t even looked at them.

He’s exceptionally calm.

_‘He’s never calm when he’s upset…’_

Black Widow, who has taken down the seediest of organizations, vicious crime lords, has faced the Hulk and lived -terrified though she had been-, cannot describe the warnings her brain is giving her body. She wants to run. Run far, far, _far_ away from the Tower in hopes that whatever Tony would unleash does not reach her.

She knows that Tony Stark is a good man who tries so hard to do the best he can for the world, but he is also a _vindictive_ man. A vengeful man that had been soaring high before hitting rock bottom only to bite and claw his way back to the top with just his intelligence, the Iron Man suit, and taking down anyone who stood in his way while avenging those who drew his enemies eyes.

The man Hydra -even undercover in S.H.I.E.L.D.- had tried their hardest to avoid the ‘eyes’ of. That was most likely why Pierce had Fury keep Stark as only a consultant. Always held on the outside looking in to keep him from finding Hydra out too soon; keep him isolated from the other Avengers to avoid the rest of them becoming non-compliant.

How had they all forgotten that? 

_‘How had we not realized?’_

“What are you talking about, Stark?” Steve asks, and Natasha twitches at the tone he’s taking with the man. “We weren’t on any mission?”

‘What are you doing, Steve?!’

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She wants to speak, tell Stark everything because lying to the man is only going to make this worse, but she _can’t_.

_‘We’re going to bring his vengeance down upon us!’_

The place where the arc reactor used to shine from Stark’s chest thumps softly as the engineer taps his fingers upon his reconstructed sternum, a smirk twitching at his lips. _Tap. Taptaptap. Tap._ Natasha steps back and bumps into Clint’s chest.

“Nat?” comes his voice next to her ear.

Her mind is racing. Stark had done that deliberately. But it was a nervous… oh. _Vot der’mo_, it was a reminder. A very subtle reminder of who they were dealing with even if he no longer had the glowing device shoved into his chest.

Fingers glide across the tablet, and suddenly all glass surfaces light up with video and sound from the speakers while a hologram alights between them and the inventor, causing all of them to flinch at the sudden noise and light. Natasha clenches her shaking fingers as she sees what it is.

Video and audio of their recent mission.

“So Dr. Doom doesn’t qualify as a mission anymore? Did you take him out for tea after a ‘training exercise’?”

Her eyes snap back to Stark, and she can’t keep herself from flinching back as though struck, pushing harder into Clint’s chest that he almost stumbles as she irrationally tries to force herself within him to hide. The engineer had turned on the stool and stares at them. His mouth stretches in a slow grin, but his gold-brown eyes are cold and hard like his namesake ( _Iron Man_ ).

The man slides off his stool with a cat-like grace she only sees during press events and pads up to the hologram.

“How did you get this?” Steve demands.

“Seems to me,” he drawls, amusement coloring his tone as he flicks through the footage, enlarging certain scenes to study them while ignoring the super-soldier. “that you could have used a bit more firepower, since it took, oh, _twelve_ hours for you to finish up.”

The glow from the holograms seems to light up Stark’s face like the arc reactor used to; like it does the Iron Man armor. She has to squeeze her eyes shut to try and get rid of the mental overlay of glowing blue eyes on a smirking flesh face, but dares not do it again when the engineer speaks.

“Why wasn’t I called in?”

“We didn’t need-”

“As the leading expert on engineering and robotics, _why wasn’t I called in?_ ”

The super-soldier and the genius billionaire lock eyes. A battle of wills Natasha feels she would gladly run from than bear witness to. Not when Stark is like this ( _focusing on us like we’re enemies on his interface_ ). Steve can’t see who the most dangerous Avenger in the room is, never has. These stare-downs had always ended in stalemates or Stark conceding to the ‘official’ leader of the team to keep the rest of them out of their power plays. The look in Stark’s eyes now… Natasha prays Steve will be the one to step down this time. Stark isn’t going to roll over anymore.

_‘How had I not seen that? Why have I never realized that Steve feels threatened by Sta-Tony?’_

As the blond opens his mouth, she presses further into Clint’s chest to try and get both of them away from the fallout. Clint shouldn’t even _be_ here. He retired and is only supposed to be called upon when a world-ending event happens, or one of the other Avengers were unavailable.

“We don’t call in civilian consultants, not when Vision does the job just as well.”

But Stark _is_ supposed to be called in if Richards and his group were unavailable when Victor von Doom appears to wreak havoc. Steve knows this!

Natasha sees the second it clicks. If she had thought his gaze was iron cold, it is nothing compared to what snaps behind them now.

If Iron Man was the one to greet them, the man that stands here now is the one that escaped a terrorist cell in a scrap metal suit. A man with a technological marvel shoved in his chest and a heart full of _vengeance_.

“When was this decided?”

Clint tenses behind her, _finally_ ( _hopefully_ ) realizing how much shit they are in.

“Three months ago,” Sam is the one to fill him in.

Gold-brown eyes shift away from the Captain’s blue to land on Sam. She can hear the step the man takes back against the tile floor; the startled inhale filling Wanda’s lungs. Those eyes flick between the rest of their teammates, all but Vision shifting ( _giving themselves away_ ) beneath Tony’s gaze. His eyes land on her. She meets them head on despite the sweat on her forehead; itching down her neck as it drips. One of his brows twitch. A question? She shakes her head in answer and slowly lets out the breath she unconsciously held as his eyes glide back to meet Steve’s ( _satisfied? Waiting to strike?_ ).

_‘Please, what are you asking? I can’t read you right now, St-Tony!_

“You kick a guy out and don’t even have the decency to tell him. Shame on you Rogers. I take it Hill was furious?”

Steve opens his mouth and from the way his eyes narrow, Natasha knows he’s about to do something incredibly stupid. She can’t let that happen. Not when Stark is too close to showing them _why_ he was called the Merchant of Death.

“She ordered us to call you in nine hours into our mission,” she says quickly, ignoring the glare Steve levels her with and trying not to shake under Stark’s gaze when it glides back on her. “She hadn’t been monitoring the situation until she tried to call us in for debriefing, only to find us still engaged.”

The Soldier doesn’t know ( _doesn’t understand_ ) who he is dealing with right now, not even after eight years.

“Nat, what are you doing?” Clint whispers harshly in her ear, hands gripping her biceps tighter.

“Rogers told Agent Hill of your… status and still refused to call you in. Two hours later, we defeated Doom’s robots after Vision located the central control device in the subway and destroyed it. We then debriefed on our mission where Hill asked about your status and, due to Rogers’ decision, and now benched until Agent Hill can speak with us.”

“Did she say when?”

She takes a deep breath.

“Nearly five months from now. Enough time for us to ‘get our shit together’ as she put it.”

His eyes narrow and lose focus as Natasha watches him, no doubt thinking exactly what she is. Five more months of dealing with them and Steve. Five more months for them to try and break him entirely. His lips twitch, and she knows that lurking beneath the man’s skin, the feral beast born in sand and blood snarls as they try to shove it back into a cage ( _a cave veiled in glamour and torture they call ‘penance’_ ).

“I see,” he says, eyes focused and deadly once more. “In that case, Agent Romanoff.”

She steps forward, brushing off Clint’s hands and straightening her spine while swallowing down her fear. Stark has to know she didn’t vote him out ( _please know_ ). But he also knows she had either supported their actions or didn’t push enough to get them to stop. He’s not blind nor a fool.

_‘Not anymore. Sta-Tony’s not going to allow us to trap him ever again.’_

“Avengers Protocol Two-Fifty-Six. Tower. Three-point-five months. Total lock-out until that time.”

Her eyes widen in shock.

“Tony, that’s-”

“This building, all of its tech, and your gear belong to me and my company, not the Avengers. Be grateful I’m not making it permanent or canceling any contracts just yet. You can suffice with S.H.I.E.L.D. two point oh equipment until then.”

She swallows, nodding her head as he stares at her.

“Well then, carry on, Agent,” he says, the holograms winking out as he turns. “FRIDAY, have their things packed up and delivered when they decide where they’re staying.”

“Of course, Boss.”

“What is Protocol Two-Fifty-Six?” Sam asks as Natasha clenches and relaxes her hands to try and rid herself of their shaking; it doesn’t work.

“Avengers Protocol Two-Fifty-Six is the removal of Avengers personnel from any designated Stark International properties and/or properties held by Anthony Edward Stark either indefinitely or during a period designated by Anthony Edward Stark at any time the aforementioned deems necessary,” comes FRIDAY’s voice from the speakers -cold and robotic like never before. “All Stark International equipment or equipment provided by Anthony Edward Stark, are to be returned until the Avengers personnel are cleared to return to the property or properties designated. If any equipment is withheld after twelve hours of protocol activation, all equipment not within the vicinity of any Stark International property or property held by Anthony Edward Stark will become inoperational until such a time that Anthony Edward Stark re-initializes it. Any tampering, editing of code or hardware, using outside sources to reactivate, or breaking of aforementioned equipment, will result in the equipment’s pre-installed self-destruction protocols and a fine to be billed to all parties involved in any changes to the equipment.

If during the time specified any Avengers personnel are without accommodations until approved re-entry into the designated property or properties held by Stark International or Anthony Edward Stark, a hotel room of their choice will be paid for by Anthony Edward Stark for the duration of the lock-out. If re-entry is indefinitely banned, accommodations remain paid for until the Avengers personnel acquire permanent accommodations by within a time limit of six months. After six months, all housing expenses are to be covered by the Avengers personnel. All personal belongings of the Avengers personnel will be delivered to their selected accommodations. After which, no further financial assistance is to be provided by Stark International or Anthony Edward Stark, and any financial burdens are the responsibility of the Avengers personnel, or their handlers, henceforth. I would like to inform all Avengers personnel in question that I have merely summarized what Protocol Two-Fifty-Six covers. If any details are unclear, please refer to your signed contracts.”

FRIDAY’s does not speak again as the rest of the team stare dumbfounded at Stark’s back.

“You can’t-” Wanda begins to protest before she is spoken over.

“You can’t kick us out and take our gear!” Steve shouts, pushing passed Natasha and stomping over to Stark. “We need it to protect ourselves and the civilians!”

“Steve-” Natasha calls out to him in alarm.

She doesn’t get the chance to stop him. The moment he grabs Stark’s arm, the familiar sound of a repulsor activating and illuminating Steve’s face follows seconds later.

“I believe I just did.”

The engineer’s face is blank, but his eyes are bright. Eyes Natasha has only seen from blurry, short clips S.H.I.E.L.D. had managed to retrieve from the video surveillance the Ten Rings used in Afghanistan. The eyes shown in full technicolor as Stark challenged the Mandarin on national TV and again during his clash with Killian at the Florida harbor.

The gaze of a man assessing and calculating dozens of scenarios at light speed. One who knows when and how to strike and where it’s going to cause the most damage and pain if he so chose. 

_~The fire tested, blood bathed beast stalking his prey.~_

“You would risk our lives and theirs?”

“You and your team will vacate Stark Tower in one hour. If you’re not, I’ll remove you myself.”

“Stark-”

The repulsor whines higher as the light intensifies.

“Tick-tock, Rogers.”

Natasha steps forward, grabbing Steve by his arm and pulling him back.

“It’s in our contracts, Steve. He has the right.”

The super soldier ignores her in his anger.

“Howard would have never done this to his friends, to the people. Stop being petty, Stark!”

If Natasha thought a smirking, cold-eyed, Iron Man was someone to be afraid of, watching the burning, calculating rage surface behind a toothy grin ( _Tony **Stark**_ ) sets off all her survival instincts. 

_~The sand born predator about to sink fangs into his prey’s throat.~_

“Really, Rogers? The remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. agents use that gear. You think you’re entitled to what I can provide just because you say so? What about _them_ , huh? I have been more than generous in allowing you to use what you have, _free of charge_. I have hundreds of thousands of people all over the world under my care who need my company to keep their paychecks coming in. I can’t afford to hand out more freebies than I already have with you all.

With all that I have done for this team, you have the _balls_ to call me petty? No, your passive-aggressive bullshit is what’s petty. Anyone with a working _brain_ knows that what you’ve been doing the past six months equates to mental torture -which, by the way, I had enough of when the Ten Rings held me in fucking _Afghanistan_ \- but I took it. Ultron was partially my fault. I get that. I _own_ it, and I’ve been working my ass off helping Sokovia rebuild and recover. What have any of _you_ done?”

“Ultron _was_ your fault! No one else could have come up with and _make_ what he was!”

There was no sound of the repulsor charging. One second she and Steve are on their feet, the next, all of them but Vision are knocked down, ears ringing. Shaking her head as the ringing fades, she barely notices Clint pulling her up on her feet as she looks at Stark.

“You can’t do this!” Steve snaps as he springs to his feet, itching to engage the genius again, and Natasha is through with this. 

_‘Keep this up Steve, and you’ll only make it worse for all of us!’_

She inserts herself between Steve and Stark, smashing down her fear as she leaves her back open to the most dangerous threat in the room, and presses a Widow Bite into Steve’s chest as a warning, daring him to go through her to get to Stark.

“Take it up with my lawyers. Now, get out of my tower. I’m not going to explain to _simpletons_ what the truth is when documentation and evidence are posted online for the world to see.”

Something in her chest wrenches painfully ( _what is he talking about?_ ), but she has no time to examine it. She looks over her shoulder to see his face, but she can’t. He’s turned around, and the repulsor is whirring and whining, powering up and down, as he walks away from them.

“Sirs and Misses, please return to the communal elevator, I will deliver you to your assigned floors where you may grab any immediate essentials and deposit any Stark weapons and gear within them,” FRIDAY says over the speakers, her Irish lilt displaying none of the fondness she used to have for them.

“I think it best to do as Mr. Stark has requested. It is within his rights to remove us from his properties,” Vision says, speaking for the first time since they arrived at the Tower ( _talking aloud for the first time outside of a mission in weeks_ ).

“We don’t have anywhere to go, man,” Sam calls out to Stark as the man enters his private elevator, never turning around, sounding out of his depth.

Natasha doesn’t blame him. Sam hasn’t interacted with the genius much before Ultron. He didn’t know who he was dealing with just like Steve and the rest of the original Avengers seem to have forgotten or never learned.

_‘We have years of experience compared to him, Vision, and Wanda…’_

“Mr. Stark did not have us removed from the Compound. It would be wise to return there.”

She turns and looks at Vision. The android’s gaze locked onto the elevator the man who helped create him disappears into, his gaze sad and longing.

_'S-Tony sacrificed JARVIS, his **kid** , to bring him to life. Why did we not care?'<.i>_

__

__

“Well, he hasn’t _yet_.”

Which really, Stark could cut them off entirely and hardly need to change a thing. Out of all of them, he’d been in the ‘superhero’ business longer as a solo agent with more success under his belt than the Avengers as a group had before they formed.

They’d be the ones hurting. 

Still somewhat dazed by Stark’s concussive blast, Natasha and the team board the elevator while Vision grabs Steve’s wrist and pulls him along firmly despite the super soldier’s orders to let go.

“I’m sorry, _Captain_ , but as per Mr. Stark’s orders, we are to return to our floors and make haste in vacating the Tower.”

Steve fumes as Vision keeps him within the elevator long enough for the doors to shut.

“Should just storm the lab. Make Stark change his mind,” Clint grumbles on her left.

“FRIDAY, take me down to the lab, I’m not through speaking with Stark,” Steve orders the A.I.

“We do that or pull what you did back there, Steve, and we’re as good as dead,” Natasha says tightly.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but you do not have the authorization to enter the labs.”

“Override code, Delta-Zero-Zero-Niner-Alpha-Stigma.”

“Access denied, override code invalid.”

“Dammit FRIDAY-”

“Pardon my interruption, Mr. Rogers, but as you are Avengers personnel and are under protocol Two-Fifty-Six, all commands you may enact will be, summarily, ignored.”

“I agree with Natasha,” Wanda says, gazing at her feet. “Stark was ready to put on his armor and attack us. I could feel it. He wasn’t keeping his rage concealed as he normally does.”

“He wouldn’t,” Steve says with conviction, his reflection on the elevator doors showing him as arms crossed and gaze hard as he stares her down. “There was no need for you to get in between us, Nat. I was handling him.”

“Like you’ve been handling him the past five months? Don’t be naive, Steve!” she snaps as she turns and looks at him dead on, her hands shaking with residual fear from what happened on the shared floor ( _this isn’t me_ ). “You may have power in some circles, but Stark is in another league. If he starts looking at us like enemies...”

The elevator stops at her floor, and she steps out as the doors open, needing to get away from Steve and the blindness he’s inspired in the others. She’s not going to sink with that ship; not when she can see how it will end.

“It was nice knowing you.”

The elevator closes before Steve can say anything more. Leaning her head against the cold steel, she sucks in a deep breath, releasing it after five counts. It stutters passed her lips. She does it again and again, but the stutter remains, her hands still quiver, and she knows they’re going to shake more when she goes down to the lab to try and speak with Stark again.

_‘He’s kicking us out, what more is there to say?’_

She straightens up, taking a final deep breath before she turns away from the elevator and walks quickly to her room. She doesn’t have a lot of time to grab what she wants to bring immediately to the compound then head to the labs before Stark makes good on his word. Grabbing all of the photos of her and the team, she puts them in the duffle bag she pulled out of the closet as well as a week's worth of clothes. 

_‘Where are the ones with S-Tony? I know I had at least two…’_

Stark will have all of her belongings left behind delivered within a few days. He’s efficient like that when he wants something done. She then goes to all of her weapons caches, only packing what belongs to her and leaving what is StarkTech on the bed.

Disassembling another gun for transport, Natasha knows she’s going to have to drag Steve and possibly Clint out of the Tower ( _why didn’t we drop him off at the farm?_ ). Vision will have to help her. She doesn’t want to stick around to see what Stark will do to get them out, or what he _can_ do to keep them out.

With her duffle packed, she returns to the elevator.

“The lab, FRIDAY.”

The elevator doesn’t move.

“FRIDAY?”

“You are not authorized to access that area, Agent Romanoff,” the A.I. says flatly.

“Then can you ask Stark to speak with me?”

“I could ask Boss.”

She waits, and still, the elevator refuses to move.

“ _Will_ you ask him to speak with me… please.”

“One moment, Agent Romanoff.”

Two minutes later the elevator ascends instead of dropping down to the lab. Her hands start to shake again. For Stark not to be in his lab after the confrontation with Steve… 

“Boss is expecting you in the common room, Agent.”

Natasha steps out of the elevator, leaving her bag by its doors as she continues into the depths of the penthouse. The mechanical whir of the Iron Man armor greets her before she sees the man sitting on his couch, a gauntlet on his left hand and some tool or other in his right.

“Stark-”

“I expected you to ask me about," Tony says over her as he continues to tinker with his gauntlet repulsor, grunting when a screw gives him a bit of trouble. “Ultron after we destroyed him. Why I wanted his program. What happened in the lab, that kind of thing.”

She swallows down the tightness in her throat. This conversation is not one she was expecting from the billionaire, not when he’s kicking the team out of the Tower. She’ll have to-

“But you didn’t. None of you did.”

"I knew why," her mouth says ( _why did I say that?!_ ), the words forcing themselves passed her lips and she feels like her brain is having two different reactions to Stark’s words. "You were playing with something you didn't understand, and it backfired like it always does."

The repulsor whirs and recedes as he turns to face her. His expression is impassive, but his eyes can’t hide the calculating predator ( _or refusing to_ ). Standing from the couch, he tosses the tool on the table where it lands with a clatter before it rolls off, startling her before he approaches. Fear floods her system again, heart pounding and freezing her in place. Through the haze of it, she _knows_ that she had never been this terrified of him before, not even when she had seen the full footage of his warpath against the Ten Rings or Killian. The Red Room made sure of that.

“Is that what you think? Really? You’re smarter than most of the team, Agent. Why did _you_ never ask?”

She says nothing. Her voice caught in her throat. Gold-brown eyes hold hers and keep them there despite her need to look away. Stark comes right up to her and places his unarmored hand against her throat and the metal one on her shoulder. The former Merchant of Death and the Philanthropist wrapped in a titanium-gold alloy and olive skin; tethered by none and hidden within winning smiles beneath cunning eyes. Life and death are sitting on her shoulders in the hands of a futurist.

The future the Avengers see that he longer wants to be a part of.

“In that case, goodbye, Agent Romanova."

His hands slide off as he moves past her, leaving her feeling like a chasm has opened beneath her feet and he had been the only one keeping her from free-falling into the dark of the unknown.

"Tony," she chokes out. "You can't-"

"You made your choice, Agent, and so have the others. I've never been one of them."

The elevator door opens.

"You have thirty minutes to leave the building before you, and the Avengers, are escorted out. Friday and I will intervene if you refuse."

She walks swiftly to the elevator, grabbing her bag and feeling as if everything is falling apart when it shouldn't have as she watches the doors close, blocking Stark’s blank face and unmerciful eyes from her sight. Something... something wasn't right about all of this. It’s like her head split in two, and one side was making all of the decisions without any rational input from the rest of it. 

“Steve’s floor,” she says, voice trembling but her mind settling as a plan starts to take shape in her scattered mind.

_‘We need to get out of this Tower.’_

She needs to get away from _everyone_ to figure this all out.

FRIDAY says nothing as the elevator moves down. Moments later, she’s exiting onto Steve’s floor, and heading straight for his room.

“Nat? What are you doing?” he asks, following her from where he had been sitting in his living room, _reading_ of all things and not even taking Stark’s threat seriously. “Nat!”

She ignores him as she enters his room and barges into his closet. Grabbing the closest travel bag, she rips several shirts from their clothes hangers, stuffing them into the bag before exiting the closet. Dodging around his grasping hands, she yanks open his dresser drawers and shoves pants, undershirts, underwear, and socks in alongside the shirts. Ducking under his arms, she sprints to the bathroom and crams his hygiene accessories in as well.

“Natasha! What the hell are you doing?”

“Keeping your ass from, at best, a lawsuit, Steve!” she snaps, twisting around him before he blocks the bathroom door and heading for the elevator. “Be down in the lobby in ten, or so help me, I won’t save you from what Stark will do to you.”

Snatching up her bag, she glares at Steve as he attempts to stop the elevator before it closes with no luck.

“Clint’s floor.”

The elevator moves down again.

To her relief, she finds Clint in his room, a bag packed and his StarkTech bow and arrows sitting on the bed beside him.

“Leave the suit he gave you too.”

Clint stares at her long and hard for a moment, briefly glancing at her still shaking hands before he nods. Pulling the suit from his bag, he tosses it beside the bow and stands, following her as she returns to the elevator.

“He’s serious,” he says, dropping his bag on the elevator floor, shoulders tense and eyes worried.

“Sam’s floor, FRIDAY.”

Down the elevators descends.

“We all crossed a line,” she says softly, staring at the reflective doors. “Now we’re paying for it.”

“But to kick us out-”

“Stark can be a kind man, Clint. But he has never rewarded those who seek to hurt him or his.”

She turns and looks him in the eyes.

“Those that do… they die, Clint, and not always six feet under.”

She leaves him in the elevator.

“Sam! You better be ready to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I ask you forgive any OOC-ness in some characters. They're that way for a reason and will return to their regularly scheduled badassery a.s.a.p.!


	3. Like Fangs Piercing Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you don't recognize the predator, how will you know when to run?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took longer than I thought it would ><. Anyway, I didn't get into the program this time, but I'm working to get in contact with a portfolio advisor there so I can have a better chance next time. Anyway, wish me luck, and enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Other Notes:  
> ~italics~ = voices/telepathic voices  
> 'italics' = longer thoughts/visions within the mind  
> (italic) = short thoughts

Once Natasha leaves the penthouse, Tony takes a deep breath before flexing his gauntlet covered hand. Both of them tremble but not enough to notice unless you were looking for it. He’s not sure if it’s all this pent-up _rage_ he feels or the enveloping sadness that’s making them shake. 

He stares at his armor free hand. Nat’s pulse had been jackrabbiting. He wonders how she could have pushed herself to confront him on her own. He had seen it. The fear. All but Rogers had been waiting for him to attack back on the shared floor.

He almost had… 

_~You’re all killers… ~_

“Boss.”

“Yea, Fri?”

“Agent Romanoff is gathering the other Avengers in preparation to leave the premises as ordered.”

“Did she pack Rogers bags for him?”

“Yes, Boss. She has it with her.”

He hums, already knowing Rogers is going to be a mule about the entire thing. The man may be a soldier, but he’s always acted like a cat whose fur you rubbed backward when he’s not the one giving orders. Flexing his hand again he supposes he’ll also have to drag Maximoff out of his tower as well if she’s not with Romanoff.

“Fri, inform me if Maximoff isn’t with Agent Romanoff when times up.”

“Certainly, Boss.”

_~I know you mean well,~_

“Also, contact Pepper and let her know what’s going on. Get in touch with S.I. lawyers as well. I want ‘Rich Protocols’ ready in case we need them.”

“To the Avengers as a whole, or select members, Boss?”

_~You just didn't think it through.~_

Tony remains silent for some minutes before taking a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“But Colonel-”

“He’s not technically an Avenger. He’s on loan from the military. You know that FRIDAY.”

“Of course, Boss.”

Looking out of the large ceiling to floor windows at New York City for a moment, Tony turns and heads to his room. A well-played act needs a well-dressed star after all.

_~You’re all puppets…~_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, he’s in the main elevator heading down to the front lobby dressed in a dark, almost black, grey Bespoke with a dark red tie, gold cufflinks, and black undershirt.

“Is Rogers in the lobby, Baby Girl?”

“No, Boss, he’s still on his assigned floor.”

He swallows down the irritation clawing at his throat.

“Let’s escort him out. Anyone else I need to put the boot too?”

“Perhaps not the boot, Boss. Vision requested I ask you if you’d be willing to speak with him in private before they depart. Only Rogers is having issues following orders. Maximoff is making her way down to the lobby in the public elevator.”

“His floor first then.”

The elevator descends without a sound, just as he designed it too, and arrives at Vision’s floor moments later. He startles back when Vision appears dressed in a grey sweater and black slacks right as the doors open.

“Jesus, Viz! I’ve got a heart condition!” he berates the android, hand pressing against his chest reflexively.

“Apologies, Sir.”

It twists his heart up worse hearing that familiar voice saying it without the usual sassiness. God -Thor?- he missed JARVIS like a missing limb…

He steps out of the elevator and follows Vision further onto his floor. He leads Tony into the kitchen where he seems to be packing a box of spices and perishables. Tony comes to stand by the kitchen island and taps his fingers against the grey granite counter. He glances at the clock on the oven.

“I can have someone send your kitchen stuff to the compound, you know.”

“There’s not much in here I need, really. But thank you for the offer,” the android says as he continues packing the box.

“Right… So what did you need? Kinda on a time crunch here.”

“It is not so much something I need, as it is something I have noticed, Mr. Stark-”

“Tony.”

“Of course,” Vision says with a wry smile before he continues, his gaze trained on the boxes contents before he speaks again. “I have noticed a remarkable difference in the Avengers behavior towards you since my inception. From what the data packets remaining in my code from JARVIS have shown, the behavior is not uncommon, but has undoubtedly increased beyond reasonable parameters since Sokovia.”

“What’s your point, Viz?” he asks stiffly, not liking where this conversation is already going.

He’s known this. Even under whatever magic Maximoff is doing consciously or not, he’s known this. The Avengers had been biased against him from day one, and he’s always laid the blame on Fury first, then on SHIELDRA for that. But no matter what he’s done, what he’s _proved_ , their opinions still slide back to that day on the helicarrier. It’s almost like… ( _Huh, now there’s a thought._ )

“My point is this. I believe Wanda’s powers have been affecting the team ever since she invaded their minds while aiding Ultron. I feel… an imprint of her power on their minds.”

Vision pauses as though he’s waiting for Tony to say something against his claim. He says nothing. He’s suspected it too after all. He’s had the irrational behavior to prove it at least.

“But you already think that,” Vision says before his eyes narrow. “No, you already _know_ , don’t you. But how would you… Ah. She invaded your mind as well. Long before the others. I can feel it now that it is no longer there. Wisps of energy trying to grasp ahold of you again-”

“How long have you known the others were compromised?”

_~You’re all puppets…~_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Stark’s eyes narrow as they look at him. Vision knows what he says next, if not delivered carefully, has the potential to close Mr. Stark off from him for an indefinite amount of time. That is not something he wants. For all that Wanda has helped him learn about this world he’s become a part of, Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner will forever be the ones who gave him the opportunity to grow and make his own choices. Though they helped create him, they did not make him a slave as others may have and Mr. Stark answered any and all questions that he asked if he was able.

Indeed he could not have asked for a better creator or mentor despite his flaws. He is sure Dr. Banner would have been equally as generous if he had remained.

Mr. Stark’s fingers never cease tapping on the counter.

“Before I answer, please understand that I am still learning about humans and their interactions despite our numerous talks,” he implores the man.

“Alright,” Mr. Stark says with a stiff nod and a wave of his hand for Vision to continue.

“It was not long after you left the compound more permanently did I feel anything out of the ordinary. Interacting with the rescued SHIELD operatives and feeling the difference between their minds and the Avengers is what had me questioning anything at all. I grew more concerned when we returned to the Tower and actually paid attention to how they acted.” 

“Why did you not inform me?”

The tapping stops. Vision draws his gaze up from his spices and looks into golden brown ones. Though he feels no fear, he can see why Agent Romanoff and Wanda had. Mr. Stark’s gaze is very reminiscent the large predatory cats he’s watched documentaries of before they pounce. 

“I tried on several occasions, but it was as if you could not hear it. FRIDAY has records of my attempts as well as her own. I believe it was her magic preventing you from… hearing the words.”

Mr. Stark says nothing for a moment, his gaze no longer intensely focused on him, only contemplative. It was mildly humbling.

“Did you inform anyone else? Were the other Avengers unable to hear it as well?” he asks, hands slipping into his slacks pockets, weight shifting onto one leg as he relaxes.

“They are similarly compromised, yes. I informed Agent Hill, but as we don’t have a way to contain her powers at this time, she suggested I train with her to see if the effects will dissipate as her control grows.”

“Has it?”

Vision hesitates. Something in him wishes to protect Wanda, but from what, he isn’t sure. However, he cannot lie to Mr. Stark and expect the man to trust him when the truth inevitably comes out. The human is vastly resourceful, and anything he says will be looked into and monitored. It was not just Mr. Stark at risk of Wanda’s powers after all, but those the man considered friends and everyone working under him.

“Unfortunately, I am unable to confirm if the training is working. Being here in the Tower with you present effects her emotionally, which in turn causes her powers to behave erratically,” he says neutrally.

“So that’s a no,” Mr. Stark says, not sounding surprised at all before he sighs. “I told Rogers to get her evaluated before putting her on active duty. Hell, I told him to _really_ think about letting a former Hydra volunteer join the Avengers when she had a major hate-crush on _me_. The guy currently bankrolling the Initiative.”

“He didn’t agree?”

He recognizes the look Mr. Stark gives him as the one he often bestows Captain Rogers when he is stating the obvious. Vision supposes he is.

“Viz, I’m going to tell it to you straight. Back at the compound, I came too close to the edge. _Way_ too close. It almost cost thousands of S.I. employees one of their benefactors keeping the company running so they can keep putting food on the table and a roof over their heads. So I left. The Avengers are no longer my top priority. Haven’t been since I left the compound. Then Rogers decided to move you all back here, and I was back to square one,” he says, his eyes haunted and angry before he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes them. “The only reason I’m still around is that I broke out of her magic. Don’t know how, don’t know why, and I don’t care. Either she’s fucking with our minds on purpose, and your training is just making her better at doing it, or she has too little control even after it all and needs to be taken off active duty until she can.”

“I’m sure she’s-”

Sharp eyes snap open and stare at him.

“Vision, years of hatred don’t disappear overnight. Hydra conditioning doesn’t either. She’s too powerful to be as compromised as she is. Get her evaluated.”

His tone is not one he’s ever used with Vision before, which makes it all the more powerful. Mr. Stark is trusting him to do what Captain Rogers refused to. Demanding he take responsibility for the knowledge he has of the situation and does what needs to be done for the greater good. No matter what Wanda’s personal feelings for Mr. Stark, himself, or her ability to control her powers are, they are inconsequential when evidence is so heavily stacked against her.

“It will be done.”

“Good, keep me posted!” Mr. Stark says with a clap of his hands and a nod of his head. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Great. I’ve got a fossil to dig out.”

With that, Mr. Stark leaves the kitchen and enters the elevator. Before he’s gone, Vision hears Mr. Stark’s raised voice.

“Lunch dates, Viz! Don’t be a stranger!”

A small smile tugs at Vision’s lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony will be the first to say that before today, the idea of kicking Rogers and the Avengers out of his Tower had filled him with crippling guilt, a side-order of worry, and a whole truckload of daddy issue, ‘make-him-proud’ anxiety had you asked him a week ago. Now? Now he’s just pissed to all hell and more than ready to drag one Captain Self-Righteous-I’m-Always-Right Rogers to the curb by his perfect teeth. He’ll settle for a less violent way, though he detests having to adopt anything Obadiah used on him even if its practical as hell.

He pulls himself off the elevator wall, straightening his suit jacket and cuffs before shoving his hands into his pockets as the elevator slows.

“Fri, you got the suit ready?”

“It’s in stealth mode just outside the common room window, Boss.”

“Good girl.”

He takes a deep breath and places the neutralizers in his ears, palming the Sonic Taser just as the doors open on the Captain’s soon-to-be former floor.

“Stark!” Rogers yells at him as he stomps over from the kitchen. “What the hell did you do to Nat?”

Tony raises a very unimpressed brow, “I didn’t _do_ anything to her. She’s following her orders.”

“You don’t have the authority to give any of us orders.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. When you signed that pretty contract with S.H.I.E.L.D. and later renewed with S.I., you _agreed_ that I would be second in command of the Avenger Initiative until such a time that I appoint a replacement and fully retire from the superhero business, or I die horribly. At which point _you_ could choose your left-hand man, seeing as how your right hand is all for yourself,” Tony says with a leer that has far less heat and too many teeth to be genuine. “As I’m not fully retired, or dead, I _can_ , in fact, give them orders. But just to really get your blood hot, let me remind you that our contracts explicitly state that any and all personnel on properties owned by S.I. or myself are subject to our rules and regulations, no exceptions.”

His sharp grin widens as Rogers’ face gets steadily puce in color.

_~God's righteous man,~_

“You can’t just kick us out of our home!”

“Your home is the compound. You said as such the day I stepped back,” he says sharply, the device digging into his palm as he clenches his fists.

“I didn’t-”

“ _You alright?_ ” Tony’s voice says from the speakers FRIDAY uses, startling Rogers.

“What-”

“ _I’m home_ ,” Roger’s voice replies to Tony’s before FRIDAY’s comes over the speakers. “That was recorded outside of the compound before Boss left, Captain Rogers.”

“See, you all barged back into the Tower after it had been negotiated and signed that the compound is to house the Avengers indefinitely. I stupidly allowed it, but now I’m tired of all your bullshit. You all leave. No arguments. No questions.”

The gauntlet forms over his hand and whines as it powers on.

“Get out of my tower.”

“Stark-”

“What did I just say?”

_~pretending you could live without a war.~_

Tony watches the muscles in Rogers neck and cheeks twitch and throb as the man’s anger steadily rises. He’s itching for a confrontation as well, but keeping a level head will be better in the long run. He and Rogers continue staring at each other; Rogers giving him his best ‘America is angry and disappointed in you’ glare, and Tony just has no more fucks to give.

“Look, Rogers, you either get in that elevator and leave like a rational human being, or this gets ugly, and you end up twitching on the front step or in a jail cell. Now how would America feel when they learn that their golden boy is there because he wouldn’t follow the law, huh?”

Rogers lurches forward, and Tony almost slides the Taser open when the prick stops himself.

“This isn’t over, Stark,” he snaps shaking his head roughly before walking stiffly past Tony into the elevator.

Tony decides to let the asshole have the last word this once. He’s said his piece and Rogers will soon learn that it _is_ over. He’s not playing around anymore.

“Fri, have the armor escort them to their vehicles, please. I’ve got shit to do,” he says, deciding to leave the neutralizers in his ears in case Rogers convinces Maximoff to stage a coup in his lobby.

He wants them out more than he wants a fight and Tony’s more than willing to use the device to do it. ( _See, Pep? I can be rational_ ) he thinks, humming AC DC's _Thunderstruck_ as he heads to the private elevator that Rogers still had no clue about.

“Will do, Boss.”

_~I had strings, but now I’m free.~_

“Schedule a cleanout crew and deliver their shit to the compound too. When you’re done, let’s talk remodeling and upgrades, baby girl.”

“You got it.”

_~There are no strings on me!~_


	4. Fractured Bonds and Mystic Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when your mind is compromised? How do you fix it? Where do you go?
> 
> Who can you trust when you're not sure who to turn to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't get the job, but I'm still looking! I've applied to some other places, so we'll see where those go... Anyway, here's another chapter -I needed a break from staring at my resume-! Next up on my writing list is Ashes to Ashes (sorry Skin Deep fans, I've just written more on that chapter than Skin Deep >->).

Clint watches Steve storm out of the elevator with an intense glare on his face that dares anyone looking too long to fight him. No one approaches him, but there are a lot of eyes on all of them, and very few are looking at them kindly. None of them seem confused as to why the Avengers are gathering in the lobby either. Some of them even look relieved. He’s assuming Stark sent out a building-wide protocol alert. Stark International has always eerily run like a tight-knit community instead of a typical business.

Blue eyes meet blue as the super soldier stomps over to them. Nat comes up beside him, arms crossed and tense, green eyes narrow and flighty. 

“Cutting it close, Rogers,” she says, her voice tight like she’s trying to keep herself from yelling.

She’s tense and more than ready to leave the Tower. Something about Stark’s attitude has spooked her into flight, and she’ll leave them all behind regardless of her loyalties to him or the rest of the team. It’s enough to flip Clint’s switch. Steve can be as bullheaded and blind about this as he wants, but he’s following Nat on this. She’s known Stark longer than anyone but Rhodes and Pepper. Though Clint had gotten close to Stark before Ultron, he never got over the man creating the murder bot. It unmoored the friendship they had that’d just started to find stable ground. If Nat’s this unnerved, he doesn’t want to stick around any more than she does.

“He can’t do this, Natasha,” Steve grits out, crossing his arms and planting himself in the lobby like an old dog that doesn’t want to go to the vet. “We need to-”

“Yes, he _can_ , so you better get your ass out of his building,” she snaps, bending down to pick up his bag and throws it at him. He catches it, eyes wide with surprise at her anger. “You’re lucky he didn’t bring you down here himself. You wouldn’t be walking.”

“Nat, we can’t let him-”

“Shut up, Rogers! You follow me and get in the car or stay and deal with the police when security calls them in.”

She turns, her red hair nearly whipping Steve in the face, stalks over to her bag, and grabs it before marching to the front doors. Clint watches Natasha leave before looking back at Steve.

“Sorry, Cap. I’ve learned better than to ignore her when she knows something I don’t.”

Clint picks up his bag, seeing Sam and Wanda grab theirs from the corner of his eye, before walking to the doors too. Since Nat is willing to leave Steve behind, he’s not going stick with him to face whatever she thinks Tony will do. He’s even more convinced when he strides out of the building and sees an Iron Man armor - _is Stark in there?_ \- right outside the doors. Stark isn’t playing around. Shoulders tense and ignoring the armor, he walks past it toward the street where a dull grey SUV is parked at the curbed. Nat’s sitting in the driver’s seat, hands twitching nervously on the wheel. He slips into the front beside her, setting his bag at his feet. Clint looks behind his chair as Sam climbs in behind him after leaving his suitcase in the trunk. Wanda and Vision take the seats in the very back. The only place left is the one behind Nat, and he considers asking Sam to move over but brushes the thought aside. 

If Nat has to see Steve’s face clearly in the rearview mirror, she might do something drastic. Like, flip the car or something.

“Why can’t we take the Quinjet?” Sam asks, breaking the tense silence in the car as they wait for their illustrious leader.

“The Quinjet at Stark Tower is the personal property of Boss and isn’t on loan to the Avengers. Boss would have to be in accompaniment or have given verbal consent for you to use it,” comes FRIDAY’s voice from the car speakers.

Clint has to keep himself from twitching at her tone. He’s been extremely wary of A.I. since Ultron despite FRIDAY’s general good behavior. The program wasn’t helping his paranoia by being in everything Stark owned and talking whenever it pleased.

“Of course,” Sam sighs, rubbing his temples before catching his eye in the rearview mirror. “Someone gonna get Steve? I doubt him getting into it with that armor is going to go over well on the news.”

“We would be doing him a disservice despite the unpleasant attention it would receive. Forcing him to comply without leaving him to realize the consequences his actions will have on all of us, will undoubtedly make our situation much worse than a bit of ‘bad publicity’,” Vision says from the back.

“Yeah? What ‘consequences’ would there be, Vis?” the Airman snarks at the Android.

“Losing our funding at best,” Natasha says quietly.

Clint sees Vision meet Nat’s gaze in the mirror before he speaks.

“Dr. Stark’s loyalty and friendship, Natasha,” Vision says firmly. “Despite the Captain’s and our behavior towards him, Dr. Stark has been a friend and confidant to us. If we lose that… I do not think the Captain is ready to deal with the loss, nor do I think you all realize how utterly devastating that will be to us as a team and as an organization.”

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks him, her voice tight.

Clint narrows his eyes at her attitude. While Steve has been… oddly dismissive of Stark at best and openly threatening the man at worst -now that he’s thinking about it-, it wasn’t anything like Wanda’s brazen animosity for Stark. It was almost as if-

The door opening keeps Vision from clarifying for her. Steve slides into the SUV, that intense glare still on his young face, but Clint sees the worry around his eyes and the way he bites at his lower lip. Stark suddenly evicting them has rattled the super soldier, making Vision’s words all the more substantial. Watching Steve gaze out the window, eyes memorizing the armor standing guard at the doors, and lingering on the Tower until it's hidden behind other buildings, it clears up the puzzle Clint’s mind has been trying to piece together for a long time.

Steve Rogers is ridiculously _young_.

The more Clint thinks about it, the more sense it makes. Steve crashed the plane into the Arctic when he was around twenty-four. Next thing he knows, it’s twenty-twelve, almost seventy years later, and everything around him has changed. Every _one_ has changed. All the people he cared for in the forties are dead or in assisted living halfway across the world. Clint’s not even sure if SHIELD -the _non_ -HYDRA part- put him through therapy before putting him back on active duty. Evidence suggests Fury didn’t make Steve go to required therapy sessions to acclimate. Clint thinks Fury was counting on Stark, the man who embodied ‘the future’, would help get the soldier settled into the twenty-first century. Stark didn’t disappoint. The man offered Steve and the rest of them a place in Stark Tower despite the rocky start Nat told him they had before the Chitauri showed up. 

When Clint was finally released from SHIELD medical under strict orders to attend therapy, he’d joined Stark and Banner at the Tower to get his head on straight before returning to SHIELD -it got him away from the place that reminded him of Coulson, which was a bonus. While in the Tower, he learned a lot about both scientists and what makes them tick. Clint had listened from the vents - _Stark’s vents were the stuff of dreams_ \- as Stark took every call Steve made. The billionaire answered any question Steve had or was just a listening ear as the super soldier talked. His sharp eyes had seen the genius pull Steve out of his shell and into the new century when their wayward leader finally returned from his road trip. Watched them as Stark taught the super soldier how to use conventional technology, caught him up on pop culture and history when he could. Start that list Steve carries around like a bible when the genius got too busy with cleaning and fixing New York. 

He and Banner tried their best to help when the genius was busy, but Stark’s ‘in your face’ attitude and speech pattern seemed to be the only thing to break through to Steve, get him to look less like a man about to be hung and more like a man ready to live in this new reality of his. Stark had become Steve’s only ‘stable’ link to the past, present, and future that was mildly trusted by the Director, and the time he made for the super soldier firmly placed Stark in Steve’s life.

But Steve was still young both physically and mentally -he, Stark, and Banner having roughly twenty more years of life experience under their belts- and was still hung up on his past, particularly the people he outlived. He got restless despite Stark keeping him on his toes with his startling lack of concern for his body’s needs and his ‘workshop’ binges.

He joined SHIELD and moved to DC before Clint had returned to active duty.

Clint remembers Stark’s sudden downturn in mood, the dark bags under his eyes that got heavier, and the weight loss before the man returned to Malibu. Steve hadn’t been doing much better according to Nat. She told him that Steve, while still more open than he had been after the de-frosting, had retreated into himself. There was a noted lack of confidence with anything other than missions and the only tech he would touch had been Stark Tech -he had broken several SHIELD devices before he refused to handle anything else. 

Then all that Mandarin shit happened. Clint had been on a mission without Steve or Nat when they saw it on the news. Steve had been the first one to call Banner at the Tower when Stark’s house had fallen into the ocean. Banner said Steve had nearly had a panic attack over the video call. Nat -who had been on the assignment with the soldier- later told him Steve had tried to call Stark countless times and attempted to cancel the mission and return to search for the genius. Fury had vetoed every request while Nat had aimed to calm the Captain down as he became increasingly frantic with each missed call. Steve was almost in the air on a Quinjet when Fury radioed in that the Iron Man armor had been sighted rescuing the staff of Air Force One. Then the reports came in from Florida, and their Captain nearly had another panic attack on the Quinjet as he continued to try and contact Stark with no response.

After everything was said and done, Steve had stormed the Tower once he was back on U.S. soil and Stark saw fit to return the soldier’s calls. Their Captain knew everything before Stark had even informed SHIELD of his new permanent residence. Banner said the dressing down Steve tried to give Stark was a sight to see if he hadn’t needed to leave the room to keep the Hulk from coming out to ‘keep Tin Man safe’. Of course, the genius was let off when the man attempted to give Steve an armor to ‘come to his rescue the next time a psychopath with a hard-on for him came and stole him away.’ Clint hopes he’d been joking. He doesn’t think anyone would be able to handle Steve doing even more stupid shit if he had a suit of armor that would allow him unlimited movement.

Buildings eventually melt into trees as they leave the city behind, pulling Clint out of his head. He shifts in his seat. The ride has been silent and brooding - _Steve’s brooding, everyone else is pouting… except Vision. Vision doesn’t pout. He just stares creepily._ \- and he wants to get out of the vehicle as soon as possible to escape all the angst. He gets enough of it from Cooper the older he gets and Lila when she’s in a mood.

“Clint and I will be taking a Quinjet to the farm,” Nat says, ignoring the look he sends her way and breaking the oppressive silence at last. “While we’re gone, I don’t care what you do, but you are _not_ going back to the Tower or contacting S-Tony unless he contacts you first. Am I clear?”

“Nat-” Steve tries to protest.

“Am. I. Clear?”

“Yes,” Vision says. “I will ensure it, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Thank you. Stay out of the media while you’re at it.”

Steve sighs and Clint swears he hears the man’s teeth grind as he clenches his jaw. The ride seems even longer after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve doesn’t understand what has happened. Sure, he _knows_ what happened. Stark has locked them out of the Tower and chased them back to the compound for no apparent reason. But… that’s not right, is it? It’s not right because he’s learned Stark always has a reason for everything he does even if no one can see it yet. Serum smooth fingers creep up and pinch the bridge of his nose. His head feels… fuzzy. Hazy, like he’s suffering from a massive blow to the head. It aches like it too, and his eyes feel dry.

Dropping his hand, Steve stares out the window, eyes and brows drawn tight as he watches the trees and fields pass by, attempting to figure everything out. His headache keeps getting worse the longer he tries.

He never notices Wanda’s eyes focused on him from her reflection in the glass.

Doesn’t notice the red that briefly flares within them or Vision’s hard gaze upon her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha finally parks in front of the compound and gives a small sigh of relief. In just a few minutes she and Clint will be on a Jet and on their way to the farm. Away from the other Avengers. Away from Tony’s retribution -should he decide to enact any- and to someplace she feels _safe_. The compound and the Tower lost that feeling the second Tony had looked at them like particularly annoying investors he’s contemplating the ruin of. 

Slipping out of the driver’s seat, she quickly walks to the trunk, grabs her bag and nearly sprints to the hanger. Clint will catch up. She needs to prep the Jet and set her plan in motion anyway. She needs Clint with her, and he’s a liability as long as he’s under whatever influence they _all_ have been under since Wan-Maximoff joined the roster.

The entire drive up, Natasha’s been analyzing every decision they’ve made since S-Tony appointed her field-lead, second in command before he left the compound. Hell, she’s questioning every thought she’s had since they were all mind whammied in _Africa_. Why had they not listened to Tony when he tried to explain why Ultron was something the world needed? Tony is the leading expert on A.I., creating wonders like JARVIS and FRIDAY, but vulnerable to his hubris. They laid all the blame on Tony no matter what the man said, even after Thor confirmed that the Mind Stone caused Ultron’s awakening. She should have seen it not as hubris, but Tony’s PTSD and what he saw on the other side of the wormhole that helped make Ultron possible, his deep-seated fear of that army returning triggering. None of them questioned his paranoia suddenly going from fifty to one-fifty right after retrieving the scepter. _Why are we not listening?_ The only reason she thinks they are willfully ignoring Tony’s warnings is that they didn’t witness what he saw on the other side of the portal, didn’t see how many ships could have invaded Earth. _Because none of us want to think about the Chitauri returning_ , she thinks bitterly. Ignorance is bliss after all.

But why had they returned to the Tower? Tony stepped down from being an active Avenger, the compound has better equipment for training, and it has a dedicated staff of former SHIELD agents like Hill to aid them on their missions. The Tower has no such things, at least none available for the Avengers. So why return? Because Steve and Wanda were _‘worried Stark may be up to something without their supervision’_. But Tony had been doing nothing but Avengers PR, gear repair and upgrades, projects for S.I., and relief efforts for Sokovia and other Avengers missions. On top of all that, the atmosphere that had driven him from the compound had followed them back to the Tower and forced him into hiding in his workshop. Pepper, Happy, and Rhodes were carefully kept away from New York by Steve, leaving Tony with no allies within his Tower.

What happened to her desire to have late night conversations with a man that was open to discuss anything under the sun and moon? She considered Tony and Clint her friends, and they had an understanding between them that she didn’t have with the others - _no one else knows what it's like to be used as an instrument or creator of death_. Why hadn’t she tried harder to protect Tony from whatever the others were doing like she had Clint when SHIELD agents were doing similar things?

That… those questions are haunting her.

She needs answers. To get that, she needs distance from the situation. Tony is as safe as he can be now that he’s kicked them out, now she only needs to get Clint away from them too. Wan-Maximoff has a history of mentally manipulating the Avengers, and if she has been doing that all this time… Clint isn’t going to react well. The fact he’s not wary of Wan- _Maximoff_ but Tony and his A.I. is a glaring red flag that something isn’t right. Rogers and him calling her a kid, and practically catering to her, is another.

Wanda had been the one to suggest to Steve that returning to the Tower was something they needed to do. 

She physically shakes herself out of her head. The Jet is prepped and ready to go as Clint finally boards and takes a seat near the hatch. Natasha scowls when Steve follows behind. Looking out across the landing pad, she sees Wa-Maximoff staring intensely at Steve’s back. It makes the hair on her neck stand on end, and her jaw clench trying to suppress the wave of rage that threatens to have her throw a dagger right into one of Maximoff’s hazel eyes.

“Rogers-” she growls, jumping up from the pilot’s seat, ready to physically shove him off the Jet if she has to.

“Wait, just… _Wait_ ,” he pleads, hands held up in surrender as he glances over his shoulder, a frown tightening his face when he sees Maximoff.

With an irritated click of her tongue, she waves at him to continue.

“I’ll get straight to the point. Ever since Stark blasted us at the Tower, my head's… fuzzy. On the ride over, I tried to shake it, but it’s… it’s like it’s stuck. I’m having a hard time rationalizing all this, about Stark. Nat, just… tell me it's not just me. That I’m not the only one that…”

Natasha stares at the fidgeting soldier for a moment, a tentative hope fluttering in her chest. If Steve can manage to shake or recognize that something is going on, then there’s a chance that all of them can shake it off and reconcile with Tony.

“It’s not just you.”

Rogers lets out a gusty, relieved sigh before he nods his blond head, peeking over his shoulder again, “Keep me posted?”

“Will do.”

The hatch closes behind him when he’s off the door, and Natasha lifts off, getting to altitude before turning on the autopilot with their coordinates. Taking a deep fortifying breath, she leaves the pilot’s seat, stalks over to Clint, and stands over him until he looks up.

“Yea?”

She slams his head against the hull.

“What the _fuck_ , Nat?!” he roars, reaching out to grab her with one hand as the other clutches at his head.

“Cognitive recalibration,” she says, stepping out of range before closing in and decking him, knocking him out. “Sorry.”

Clint slumps in his seat, and she carefully moves him into the recovery position, strapping him in tight to keep him from flailing around when he comes to. She regrets having to do this to him again, but she needs to know if recalibration will work on him as it did with Loki and the Mind Stone. She hopes it does. That way there’s a chance it will work on everyone else, and they’ll only have to ask Tony to knock out Steve, use the Hulkbuster if the standard Iron Man armor doesn’t work on him. If not, maybe distance will break whatever it is, and she and Clint can return to Tony to look for a solution.

Clint wakes an hour out from the farm. Natasha turns the pilot seat around to watch him.

“Ugh,” he groans, clumsily unbuckling the straps and sitting up, clutching his head. “Why would you do that?”

“We’re being influenced by something. I can still feel it in my head.”

“What?”

“We’re compromised, Clint. Something is turning us against S-Tony, and none of us noticed until he snapped. My money is on Wan- _Maximoff_ ,” she says tightly, the thought that someone they’ve given a second chance using them… well, fool her once.

“Wanda? Are you kid-”

“She’s already manipulated my mind. Got in and showed me my fear, my _reality_ , and made it a thousand times worse when she was helping Ultron. What makes you think she’s not still in there? Not still able and willing to use us to get back at S- _Tony_ for something he didn’t knowingly do?”

“She didn’t get to me though!” he snaps. “I stopped her before she could. Stuck a shock arrow to her forehead. _She didn’t get me_.”

“And after? Can you _really_ say that she wasn’t able to sneak in during the fight? When everything was over, and we were still riding that battle high? While we were at the compound before you left back to the farm?”

She rises from the pilot seat, walking toward him as she watches Clint clench his teeth and dig his fingers in his hair, gasping out, “She’s not in here!”

“Why did you return, Clint? You were retired.”

“She’s not done anything, Nat. Wanda’s just a kid. She _knows_ better n-”

“You’re going to trust her over me? Stop calling her a _child_ , Clint! She’s a _woman_ who wanted to destroy St-Tony because a bomb that had his name on it. S-Tony had been out of the weapons business and had been cleaning up stockpiles of them for two years before Sokovia’s civil war! Even if he missed one, that bomb was a fake! Stark weapons had a failure rate of point zero one percent. They were _that_ reliable.”

“She-”

“She and her brother willingly joined HYDRA. Their powers came from the Mind Stone, the same stone that put you under Loki’s control. Did you notice anything different when under it then?”

“... Maybe,” he chokes out.

“Then why did you return, Clint? She went to visit you, and suddenly you’re back and running missions.”

“She’s not-”

“Why did you return, Clint?!” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know, alright!”

“Then _trust_ me,” she demands, standing over him and digging her fingers into his shoulders before releasing him.

Clint runs shaky hands through his hair as Natasha returns to the pilot’s seat. She needs the distraction until Clint’s ready to see the truth.

“Okay,” he whispers, coming up behind her seat as they come to land several yards away from the farm. “Okay.”

She stands and pulls his head against her shoulder, wrapping her arms around him tightly as he does the same.

“We’ll get through this,” she promises. “We always do.”

All of them will or so help her she was going to tear Wa- _Maximoff_ apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After FRIDAY relayed that the Avengers were clear of the Tower, and currently approaching the Compound, Tony finally slumps down into his seat, running a shaky hand down his face. He hadn’t realized how tense he was. How much he anticipated having to go down there and get them off his property by any means necessary despite FRIDAY playing guard dog at the doors. 

“Alright… Alright, how are we going to do this?” he mumbles, squeezing the bridge of his nose as a stress headache threatens to make an appearance, eyes twitching as he heaves a shaky sigh. “What am _I_ going to do about this…”

_~I know you mean well…~_

His racing thoughts don’t help, of course. It runs through all the contacts he has that could help him with all this magical bullshit. Whether they _would_ is another thought that cracks through like a pebble to the head. Opening his eyes, he pulls out his phone, fiddling with it as he rises off the couch. 

_~You just didn’t think this through.~_

He needs to get on top of this situation before something else sends the Avengers organization into a worse tailspin that they won’t be able to recover from. His team of bloodthirsty lawyers and PR masterminds are incredible, but even they would have one hell of a time covering the Avengers’ ass if anything else went to shit right now. Tony may not want to stick his neck out there for the team, but the Avengers as an institution are the most visible and active of Earth’s superheroes. They’re the face of the superpowered community. Which means, if they fuck up again, it’s not just going to be the Avengers the people are going to go after. The documents he’s come across when… browsing the internet attest to that.

He has to keep his eyes on the bigger picture.

“Fri?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Bring a car around. I’ve got a meeting to get to,” he says, selecting a contact and tapping out a message.

Only one person comes to mind that should be able to help him immediately.

“There are no scheduled meetings on your agenda, Boss.”

“I just made it. Chop chop my girl, we’ve got a wizard to visit.”

“Of course, Boss,” she says even though she sounds confused.

A smile twitches at his lips. His baby girl’s learning.

_~I was designed to save the world.~_

He twitches as he straightens his suit jacket, and strides over to the elevator, back straight and head held high. 

He’s Tony Fucking Stark.

He’ll stand up on his own two feet and pick up his scattered pieces like always.

_~There are no strings on me...~_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the Ancient One met Stark after the New York invasion, she was reluctant to admit that the man was more than the media or he portrayed himself to be. He was far more capable of impossible feats than she was comfortable admitting at the time. He had created a way to detect magic, after all, and tracked down the New York Sanctum with little to no issue. Not even the wards kept his wandering gaze from seeing the building. At the time, all credit for such a feat was given to the Arc Reactor sitting in his chest. His exposure to the Tesseract and Loki’s scepter were also viable candidates. Both artifacts were magic in nature or contained something similar.

She’s since reconsidered. Continued exposure to the man would force one to do such, she muses as she sips on her tea. The man didn’t make it easy for anyone to change their opinions, however. He kept himself buried within his media persona or unsettling genius, actively discouraging anyone from getting too close. Knowing that, and what she knows of Stark now, does and does not answer the conundrum of Stark.

_How does Stark, a man untrained and skeptical of magic, keep his timeline so shrouded?_

She had tried to look into the man’s future timeline after meeting him with no luck. So she looked at his past. Stark’s timeline becomes hazy right after a Reactor replaces the battery in Afghanistan, and cuts off just after he switched the Reactor core with his new element. After that, she can see no other events. His history, his possible futures, all remain clouded behind a barrier of red and gold sparks interspersed with blue. Not even the timeline of Stephen Strange is so perplexing. Many impetuses could be at play, a power that could want Stark’s timeline hidden for some greater purpose, but only one force makes any sense with what information she has gathered.

_Magic._

But the ‘flavor’ of the magic causing the distortion is unlike any she’s felt. It’s personal magic instead of universal, but rather than of taking from Stark’s life force and aiding him with his creations as she expected, it remained dormant until the Arc Reactor was put into his chest. It then mixed with and drew in the energy the Reactor radiates. From what little information she pried from Stark about the device, the new core is based off research Howard Stark had done on the Tesseract, but was unable to complete. Looking into his father's timeline reveals nothing substantial. It too becomes shrouded after she attempts to pry further. It’s like the magic has a mind of its own, retroactively concealing anything related to Stark when someone pursues information about him.

This combining of magic and Tesseract based energy has given Stark magic similar to the Asgardians while being something entirely new, magic with the ‘flavor’ of creation and transformation, space and transference. Self-preservation. It has been protecting Stark, and thus itself, ever since the finished Arc was settled into his skin from what she’d seen of his timeline before it became blocked. It also seems to increase his already ridiculous luck if the news reports are to be believed. 

Then the man had the device removed. But still, the Reactors in his buildings, suits, and his magic continue to interact. It’s kept all but her scanning magic from affecting him and his technology whenever he decides to visit. It's the only reason The Ancient One knows Stark’s magic refuses to touch his life force again after the Reactor’s removal. It goes dormant when not close to one of the devices. Looking into her future, as usual, did nothing to reveal what else his magic is capable of or when Stark would come to discover it.

Until today.

The text had been unexpected not only because it came shortly after the second ripple of his wild magic burst from Stark Tower, but also because she did not own a phone. How Stark got the device into the Sanctum and slipped it into her robe pocket without notice was disturbing to think of, if she had not been so curious. So she took a peek. The Ancient One could see nothing beyond their meeting, almost like his magic was allowing her a glance. From what she did see… at least it will start with humor.

Stark arrives half an hour after he sent his message.

“You know I don’t have a phone for you to contact,” is the first thing she says to him.

“Really? Then how did you get my message? Did you peek into the future and see me texting you?” he asks as he climbs the stairs up to meet her.

Pulling the phone from her robes, she holds it up. It’s a Stark Phone. The raised brow Stark gives her tickles her humor.

“Well unless you’re bending reality and making me see things, that’s a phone in your hand.”

“I didn’t own a phone before your text.”

She can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure out this puzzle.

“Yeah, no, I’m not seeing the connection here.”

“It appeared in my pocket with your message on it,” she says, a smile threatening to creep upon her face.

Stark tilts his head this way and that, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes dart between hers before he runs a hand down his face.

“Okay, look. I’ve already had an… admittedly _awful_ day, so can we just not? Do this whole ‘mystic one’ routine, I mean? I came here with an actual issue I need your help with,” he says, and the weight of his words make the air in the sanctum heavy with conflicting emotions.

Concern for the man she’s come to see as an exceptional colleague pushes her to step closer. Brushing her magic against his reveals something lingering around him like a haze. His magic coils tightly around him, ready to spring into action, and tightens further when she tries to look deeper. His spine straightens and his shoulders tense in sync with it, but he does not step back.

“Relax, Stark. Something has touched you that isn't made from natural energies.”

He flinches when she raises her hands up to hover close to his temples.

“Yeah, well a lot of shit’s happened between now and our last tete-a-tete, sweetheart. First the Mandarin, then SHIELDRA and Cap dropping three helicarriers in the Potomac, and finally, a magic gem made murder bot with a set of danger twin sidekicks made of voodoo and spite, dropping half a city to wipe out humanity cropped up. I’m sure you’ve heard all about that. Unless you don’t own a TV. Do you own a TV? I haven’t seen one-”

“Stark.”

“Right. After all that, you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not too keen on you ferreting around in my brain. Or don’t excuse me, it’s no skin off my back, but I already had one lobotomy, I don’t feel like another.”

The Ancient One frowns at the man, watching as his eyes flit around for a time before landing on her with a shaky sigh and twitching hands. 

“Just get it over with.”

“I’m not ‘ferreting around’ in your mind, Stark. There’s an energy around your mind that shouldn’t be there. You seem to have broken through a great deal of it, but much remains. For now, I will only see how much there is, then we’ll continue from there, yes?”

Stark shifts on his feet before giving a definite nod.

“Relax,” she says as she flicks her wrists, golden symbols and circles forming around them, causing Stark to twitch as a projection appears and hovers over his head. “There it is.”

The red energy twists and writhes around Stark’s mind. Boring into it where it can and fighting the man’s magic where it can’t. She frowns as she tries to come up with someone who could have been able to cast such malicious energy manipulation.

“What? Am I dying?”

“No…”

“Well?”

With a sigh, she dispels her magic and places her hands behind her back, “The energy has been there for some time. Watching how it interacts with your mind is incredibly concerning. It influences your thoughts, your emotions. Since you haven’t been driven insane or to suicide, I can only assume your magic was protecting you until it was strong enough to… eject enough hooks to give you back your agency. However, this red energy is strong. It is entrenched deeply into your mind where your magic hasn’t been concentrating its focus. It will take more effort to remove it than I expected.”

Stark stares at her blankly for a moment.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘ _my magic_ ’? You said ‘my magic’. Twice. Why would you say ‘my magic’? I don’t have magic. I’ve never had magic. I don’t have a magical bone in my body. I’m an engineer, not a wizard. I build things. Do you see a wand on me? Did you pull a Bruce on me and spike your tea or something?”

She waits until the man’s word vomit comes to a place she can interrupt.

“You saying ‘my magic’ is literally giving me hives. Do you see this? I’m breaking out in hi-”

“If you’ll let me explain?”

His mouth snaps shut with a click. The Ancient One would be amused in any other situation, but Stark’s condition has alerted her to an energy manipulator who has no issue using their powers to cause harm to others.

“Come, I think it best you sit down for this.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

She leads him further into the sanctum, prodding him along when he gets distracted by the magical items and books lining the walls and tables, and into the parlor. After sitting him down, she conjures him a cup of tea.

“Coffee?”

“Like you need any more of that.”

He huffs, but drinks his tea, cupping the glass between his hands. The heat must be grounding him because his shoulders loosen and the furrow between his brows fades away.

“Alright, hit me.”

She regards him for a moment before she speaks, explaining what she can about how his magic and the Arc Reactor interact. How the magic hibernates and awakens depending on the lack or presence of a Reactor, how it recharges and ignores his life force as an energy source.

He looks mildly concerned and begrudgingly intrigued. She knows very well Stark has no love for anything not firmly grounded by the laws of physics. The Ancient One finds it ironic as he consistently defies those very laws himself.

His brow furrows before smoothing out as he interrupts, “So when you said you didn’t have a phone, my magic poofed one into existence or… portaled one here for you to get my message?”

“Yes.”

“Then-”

A pointed look silences him. Ms. Potts has trained him _very_ well.

“Based on this, I assume that when you resided in the Avengers Compound after Ultron’s defeat, it had not yet been upgraded to Arc Reactor technology until after you returned to the Tower?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I may not be able to see your timeline, Stark, but I can see how much Reactor energy your magic has gathered. It’s practically oozing it,” she says, flicking her fingers which sends a burst of powerful golden-lit magic shooting toward him.

A red and gold light violently attacks her magic before it reaches him, swallowing it.

“Ah,” he grunts, squirming in his seat at the display his magic gave him.

“I can also extrapolate that you were in contact with the person responsible for the energy currently trying its best to tear your mind apart. Your magic would not have allowed that to happen if it had or been near an Arc Reactor.”

A trembling hand lifts and runs down his face as he lets out a long, shaky sigh.

“Well… at least this ties into why I’m here.”

She takes his current affability to his magic at face value. The Ancient One knows he’ll be more resistant to the idea once the problem he needs aid with is solved. With a sigh of her own, she debates calling Wong in from Kamar-Taj. She had not planned on taking a student before her vision arrived, but needs must, she supposes.

“We have an energy manipulator on the team,” he says, hands wringing together between his knees. “Former Hydra volunteer with a real hate-boner for me. Worked with Ultron with her twin brother before she found out his plans for humanity and switched sides.”

One of her nonexistent brows raise, “You didn’t think that recruiting someone so obviously unstable to the Avengers was unwise?”

The look he levels her with makes the hair on the back of her neck rise. His magic is sparking and starting to make his eyes glow with the same light as the Arc Reactor. 

“ _I_ was not the one who decided that,” he snarls. “ _Rogers_ ignored everything I said about her loyalties. When nothing I said swayed him, I talked about psych evals, scans to check everyone out after she mind-raped them in Africa, and it was like talking to a steel wall. _Nothing_ I said to any of them kept her off the team.”

“Stark-”

“I don’t remember much after the first week of her being in _my_ compound but the constant _fear_ seeping into every crevice of me. The insults and threats I had to endure from all of them...”

A hiss of breath escapes him as he violently pushes himself up from his chair and paces around the room like a caged beast.

“I remember the gun I held in my mouth after locking FRIDAY out of my room,” he roars, red and gold magic lashing out, breaking several artifacts around him. “Don’t tell _me_ I thought it was a wise choice!”

“Stark!” she commands sharply, rising from her seat and raising barriers around the closest remaining relics.

She had not expected the feral rage the man has suppressed, but perhaps she should have. Stark is known for taking down his enemies with brutal efficiency if one of his allies didn’t do it themselves.

“What?!” he snaps, whirling on her with Reactor blue eyes.

“Calm yourself. Some of these relics were hard to come by,” she says mildly, waving her hand around at the broken ones.

The blue slowly fades from his eyes after he looks around, closing them as he takes several calming breaths. With a sigh, the man retakes his seat, head down and hands dangling between his legs.

“Sorry,” he says softly.

“It’s fine. I’ll have one of our disciples fix them at a later time,” she says, taking her seat as well. “Now that we’ve established _who_ is responsible for your ailment, why come to me?”

“Isn’t magic just energy manipulation?” he asks her instead.

“Of a sort, yes, but magic draws upon power from other sources. The source of this red energy has no basis in magic. Y- _Their_ energy manipulator does not seem to possess any form of magic. Her power possibly derives from an alteration in her genetic code.”

“Like a mutant? Like the X-Men?”

“Yes. You will have better luck in coming up with a solution to your problem if you contact them.”

Stark heaves a heavy sigh before he nods, standing from his chair and assuming their meeting is over.

“Then I guess I’ll-”

“We’re not done here, Stark.”

He looks at her, the confusion evident on his face, “We aren’t?”

“Did you really think I can let you leave here while your magic is lashing out?” she says before realizing her error.

Brown eyes narrow, blue light teasing beneath them as he regards her. 

“‘Let me’?” he asks calmly, the twitch of his jaw muscles giving away the rage she witnessed earlier is barely suppressed.

His left hand moves to his right wrist, moving over something beneath his sleeve. She assumes it’s some portable gauntlet and tenses when he turns to face her head on.

“Think about it, Stark. Your magic is currently striking out whenever your emotions run high. What do you think will happen to those around you if you don’t learn to control it?”

His upper lip twitches like he is about to bare his teeth at her. A startling contrast against the man’s usual affable temperament to all situations. Though, she supposes the threat of confinement does grate on all of his instincts after Afghanistan. The Ancient One had not meant to phrase it as such.

“I’m not trying to contain you, Stark, but that energy around your mind must be removed, and _you_ must learn how to control your magic before I can let you leave here with a clear conscience.”

He deflates as if all that rage flowed out of him and into the ether, leaving only his tired body to keep him upright.

“What do I need to do?” he asks, slumping back down into his seat.

“You need to be taught. You need training. The best place where I can offer both is at Kamar-Taj,” she says, approaching this exhausted man and laying a hand on his shoulder. “It will take some time, but I’m-”

“I can give you four months.”

The Ancient One blinks in surprise as the man gets up and starts to head to the front entrance.

“I’ll be back Saturday after I’ve made arrangements. I have some things to set in motion before I can dedicate so much time to ‘yer a wizard, Harry’ business.”

“Learning about and how to control your magic will take years, four months time is not enough,” she says, shaking off her surprise.

Stark stops and turns enough to look back at her.

Glowing blue eyes hold hers.

“I’m Tony fucking Stark. Just watch me.”


	5. Magic Mishaps and Spy Games: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony starts magic training and the Spy Twins have some things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to break this chapter into two parts since its evolving passed my twenty-page limit I set at the beginning of the year. Enjoy!

After Tony has everything in order, near noon that Saturday as promised, he returns to the New York Sanctum assuming he and the Ancient One would be catching a plane to whatever city Kamar-Taj is located. What he is presented with shouldn’t surprise him, but does.

“We’re going to what?” he asks, watching the wizard as she moves around, packing things into a bag that doesn’t seem to get full. “And is that a bottomless bag? Did you Harry Potter that shit before I got here?”

“Harry Potter has nothing on what real magic can do. I suppose the easiest way to explain a sling ring is that it is a focus that allows us to open gateways to another place.”

“... You could have just said ‘it’s a portal maker’,” Tony grumbles, shifting his suitcase suit to his other hand, shrugging his shoulder to loosen it up. “By the way, I’m not too keen on portals…”

“I imagine not after seeing what’s on the other side of one.”

Tony’s sharp gaze zeros in on the Ancient One who is looking at him placidly. Studying her for a moment, Tony decided he has nothing to lose telling her what he saw.

“It was going to be an invasion. That nuke? It only took out one of the fleets,” he says as calmly as possible despite the memories trying to send him into a panic attack. “The suit didn't have enough memory to record everything I saw without access to Stark servers and… JARVIS. You can imagine how well everyone took it when I told them it wasn’t over without something more solid than the few short clips I could provide. Are pictures of three fleets holding at least a few thousand troops not a good enough reason to prepare? Which is nothing to my _eyewitness_ account that there were more than three hanging out around the portal.”

He knows he sounds bitter because he _is_. The only ones to believe him had been Fury, Rhodey, and a few Generals within the U.S. army. With Fury ‘KIA’ and Rhodey only a Colonel, trying to get anyone in the government to believe him wasn’t worth the headache he got the first and last time he tried. He’d left it to the few Generals he’d convinced to try and sway more over to the idea, but so far, it wasn’t going so well last he’d heard.

“So you’ve seen it too then? What could bring the destruction to our planet?”

He says nothing, too surprised that she believes him much less has supposedly _seen_ what he has.

“Can you… see the future?”

He dreads what her answer will be. If she can, it would be an advantage he wouldn’t be able to ignore.

There’s too much he wants to protect.

“Only so far, and only with those who will directly be within my sphere of influence.”

“So you could see when another invasion is going to happen.”

“Not through my timeline,” she says, moving her hands behind her back.

Tony’s eyes narrow, noting the movement. It’s a tell; one she knows she has and is trying to keep him from seeing.

“Then you can see one on mine.”

Her face gives nothing away, and he shoves his free hand into his pocket when her eyes flicker down to it. She’s not the only one with a tell after all.

“I cannot.”

A sigh of relief is punched out of him, that means he has-

“Do not mistake what I’m saying,” she says, her voice soft and eyes distant. “I cannot see it on your timeline because I cannot _see_ the fabric of the universe woven around you.”

Whatever relief he felt for the first time in years shatters like dry ice on concrete.

“What do you mean? You’ve said that before, so why can’t you?”

“As I said, your magic; your Arc Reactor technology; they work in tandem to disrupt other magic from interacting with you. It also keeps magic users from tracing your past or following your future,” she says with a disinterested shrug.

Tony isn’t fooled. Anyone who has a desire to learn anything will always be interested in something they don’t understand. Just like Tony may despise magic, but he’s been presented with the opportunity to learn about it and how to use his own -and isn’t _that_ a headache waiting for him to concentrate on.

“So I’m a magic void. Great. That’s fantastic,” he says with some humor before his tone gets icy and near hysterical.

Miss Sorcerer Supreme is just going to have to deal with it. He’s spent that last six months on the verge of suicide because Dazzle Fingers had been rooting around in his head showing him every terror he’s lived through, but a thousand times worse.

He’d barely made it out the other side…

“Then why the fuck was she able to get in my head in the first place and ruin everything?”

His breathing accelerates, a panic attack crawling up his throat and starting to wrap around it when the Ancient One answers.

“Because you removed the Arc Reactor. Possibly because you weren’t near the one in your armor when she invaded your mind.”

The engineer stiffens before relaxing, and a nearly manic chuckle escapes his throat as his eyes drop to the floor, trying to find stability even as his mind races with the revelation that everything could have been avoided...

“Story of my life,” he giggles. “I remove the thing that kept my heart safe for years from my hubris, only to make me more vulnerable. Allow something _worse_ to take root and ruin everything...”

He looks up, eyes meeting the Ancient One’s and giving her a sharp smile, teeth and all.

“You know, your universe fabric weaver -if there is one- is a fucking bag of dicks.”

She grins wryly, “I do not believe there is a being who weaves the fabric of the universe, but I do believe in causality. The events that shaped your life-”

“Yea, I know all about causality,” Tony interrupts her. “I’d rather not think about how my poor decisions lead me here. Can we just get going so we can get started? I do have a time limit.”

The Ancient One grins, “Very well.”

She lifts her hands, one held up in some form of hand symbol while the other forms another as she makes a circular motion with her arm. Gold sparks in midair and a few moments later, Tony watches as a… portal forms, and he can see two people on the other side waiting for them.

“After you,” she says, holding an arm out toward the portal in a welcoming manner.

Tony would find the gesture entertaining if a hole to another part of the world hadn’t happened before New York.

“That place still on Earth?” he asks, swallowing down the burst of fear threatening to escape him.

By Thor, if he’d known watching a portal open was a trigger, he’d have turned the other way.

“Yes.”

Picking his bag up from where he’d set it beside his feet, he takes a deep, shaky breath, and steps closer to the portal. He’s confident he’s got his panic under control right up until he’s up close and personal with it and his body just _stops_. Heart in his throat and sweating like he’s run a marathon.

“How about you go first?” he says, turning around to face the wizard instead of the swirling portal.

“You have nothing to fear, Stark. It’s not going to spontaneously reroute you… somewhere else.”

“Tell that to my messed up brain after I’ve had nightmares involving my fall through the portal and several thousand feet between my suitless body and the street,” he snaps, resolutely not focusing on the portal sparking gold from the corner of his eyes.

What little humor had been on her face vanishes at his admission, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I will lead you through,” she says stepping around him, her hand shifting as she goes. “Just keep your eyes on the ground.”

His gaze drops when she tugs on his shoulder. The gold sparks engulf his peripheral as she gently pulls him along until she halts him with a firm press against his shoulder.

“Step up and back.”

With a shaky breath in, Tony follows her instructions. As he steps back, the ground changes from hardwood flooring to stone with traces of grass among the grooves. Pulling his other leg through, he turns before he looks up. The Ancient One has a soft look on her face; however, the two men that had been waiting on them do not look pleased to see him.

“When you said were bringing someone for us to teach, Tony Stark was the _last_ person I would have expected,” the black man with a stern face says derisively. “Nor would I have expected him to cower before such benign magic.”

“Mordo!” the Asian male says as the Ancient One turns a sharp gaze on the man.

Panic gives way to irritation as Tony meets the man’s gaze. Tony smiles at the man -Mordo- as the longer he holds his gaze, the roiling rage that had been simmering beneath his skin since he’d broken free from Maximoff’s hold bubbles up looking for release. He barely notices the Ancient One going stiff as her eyes slide away from her colleague onto him. Hardly registers the other man staring at him in shock. He’s only got so much patience right now for a man who doesn’t _know_ him from Einstein, and he’s more than done being a doormat for people who think he owes them something.

He owes _nothing_ to anyone he doesn't consider his.

“Hey, you ever fall through a portal without that fancy sling ring thingy?”

Tony blinks and blinks again.

“Huh… did I do that?”

Mordo had just blinked out of existence. Seriously. He was there, and then he wasn’t.

“Stark!” the Ancient Once barks at him.

“What?! I didn’t mean to!”

“What were you thinking?”

“I said what I was thinking!” he snaps, dropping his suit and preparing to put it on as he contacts FRIDAY with his headset.

Before he can step into the suit, the Ancient One forms a portal on the ground and Mordo comes screaming through, flying up in the air nearly to roof height. The Ancient One and the other man create some kind of magical net, but Tony is already in his suit and flying up to catch him. Mordo latches his arms around his neck, his grip as tight as a mortal man can get according to the suit’s sensors as Tony grabs him around the waist.

Landing gently, Tony sets the man down, and he promptly collapses onto his backside. The Ancient Once and the Asian man rush forward as Tony steps back and disengages the suit, quietly stepping further away as guilt starts knocking on the mental door.

“What happened?” Mordo asks, his voice wavering as the Ancient One sends the other man off with a whisper.

“One of the reasons I brought Stark here to learn,” she says. “His magic is untrained and unpredictable. I could not, in good conscience, train him in New York. He’s a danger to those who can’t counter his magic until he’s trained.”

Tony flinches at her words but doesn’t take them to heart.

She’s not wrong.

He’s always been dangerous, even at the tender age of three. Too fucking smart. He’d started designing weapons not long after his first circuit board to try and gain Howard’s love. By the age of five, he’d been kidnapped several times already, and it had gotten boring. Howard had made it very clear that he would never pay whatever ransom the kidnappers of the day demanded, especially without proof of life.

So Tony got resourceful.

Three kidnappings later and he was escaping his captors within two hours after they’d relocated him, leaving behind traps that would incapacitate them until police arrived.

He’d become somewhat of a legend at the precinct near Howard’s mansion.

Didn’t stop the kidnappings. Didn’t stop Howard from smacking him around the one time he’d asked why he never came for him.

“Stark men are made of iron, boy. If you can’t keep yourself from being taken, you don’t deserve my help,” Howard had said, a tumbler of scotch in hand as his mother stood outside the study.

After that, Tony never expected to be saved by anyone.

He’d save himself and those he considered his.

The Asian man returns with tea in hand, passing it to Mordo.

“Thank you, Wong,” he says before taking a sip.

To distract himself from the awkwardness of just standing there until they acknowledge his existence again, Tony looks around. The portal had brought them to a courtyard, and now that his anxiety has simmered down, he notices a slight bite in the air. Eyes drifting off into the distance he sees Everest.

So he’s in Nepal. Somewhere in Kathmandu. At least there’s some civilization nearby if he gets tired of wizards.

“Stark, come here please,” the Ancient One interrupts his musings.

Not that they were ever really interrupted. The curse of genius.

“Yeah?” he asks as he steps toward them, Mordo back on his feet and looking at him with apprehension in his eyes.

_~Stark is a sickness!~_

His fingers twitch in his pockets. He still hasn’t figured out if hearing Ultron’s voice was due to Maximoff’s magic still toying with his head or his PTSD talking.

He hopes it’s the former.

“Let me introduce you to my associates,” the Ancient One says, placing a hand on Mordo’s shoulder. “This is my second in command, Baron Karl Mordo. He will be your primary instructor.”

Mordo holds his hand out to shake, but since this wasn’t a business deal, nor was he one of the many other people he puts on a farce for to get specific results, Tony doesn’t take it. Glancing at the offered hand, he meets Mordo’s eyes and raises a brow, hands shoved deep into his pockets. It’s probably petty, but Tony is just _that_ done with being courteous to those who’ve already pissed him off.

“My apologies, Stark. It was wrong of me to judge you.”

Tony gives it a moment to sink in that _someone_ has apologized to him for the first time in a very long while, before he hums and takes Mordo’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

“I’m sorry I somehow forced you to experience that.”

“From what I could see before I was… relocated, you made no conscious decision to do so. All is forgiven.”

Tony takes his hand back and gives the man a sad smile, “I’ll believe that after the nightmares start and you can still say that.”

Mordo looks confused but says nothing more, stepping to the side, and the Asian man takes his place.

“This is Wong. He is the assistant librarian and will help you find whatever texts you may need,” the Ancient One says, waiting for them to shake before motioning for Tony to follow her. “I will show you to your room.”

He hums in agreement, tapping his watch and waiting for the suit to fold back into its suitcase form, picking it and his bag up when it’s finished. Nodding at Mordo and Wong, he follows her across the courtyard and into one of the buildings. He looks around, taking in everything; his brain already mapping the route as well as potential escape paths. As they walk down a hallway, hushed voices hit his ears. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees the young and curious faces of those he assumes are other wizards in training.

“They’ve been curious to see who I was bringing when I announced that a special guest would be arriving at Kamar-Taj,” the Ancient One says as she stops in front of a door. “This will be where you’re staying for however long you’re here.”

Tony nods, moving to open the door when she places her hand over his.

“I also offer it as a safe place should you ever have need of one.”

He swallows down the raw gratitude that surges up.

“Thank you,” he says thickly and opens the door.

Stepping inside he takes note of where the windows are; the distance from the bed to the door; what he could use to defend himself until he’s in the suit. Those thoughts make his guilt rear up again for the second time today. None of the wizards had done anything to him, but-

He viciously shoves the guilt down. He’s damn well earned the right to know he can defend himself. Too many betrayals; too many times he’s been left alone to save himself, and he’s not going to let anyone give him anymore shit about it.

Placing his bag down on the bed, he further maps the room, still aware of the Ancient One watching him from the hallway. Only after he’s seen everything in the place does he return to the doorway and look at her in question.

“Mordo will meet you in the courtyard after morning lessons are complete. As your magic is still… subject to accidental activation, we’ll say, I decided to isolate you from the other students until you have a handle on it.”

“Best bet,” he agrees with a shrug.

“Then I’ll leave you to explore, or shall I have Wong accompany you?”

“I think I’ll wander.”

“Very well, have a good afternoon, Stark.”

“You too.”

She leaves him alone. After shutting the door, he wanders back to the bed, placing the suit at the side and sitting down. Leaning forward, he buries his face in his hands and just breathes.

“Tony, you fucked up bastard, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” he asks himself before giggling.

“She didn’t even offer the wifi password.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Ancient One’s lips twitch as her fingers brush against the strip of paper in her sleeve. She’s curious to see if Stark can guess the password; hack into it despite the magical protections; or access his wifi through the barriers around the temple.

She makes her way to the dining hall where she knows Mordo and Wong will be meeting with Kaecilius as is their routine. Mordo still looks shaken from his short time imitating Stark when he fell from the alien portal. Stark’s magic seems to react to some kind of stimulus, but what exactly is up for debate. It’s responded to outside magic; threats to Stark; and with Mordo, to people who say derisive things about him or piss him off.

She wants to say that Stark’s emotions are the main triggers, as most evidence seems to point to, but it doesn’t account for all of the instances it has activated. What a conundrum indeed.

Coming to the table where the men sit, she greets Kaecilius with a nod before turning her attention to Mordo.

“Stark has been informed to meet you after morning lessons. I leave how to train him up to you.”

“And why isn’t that capitalist training with everyone else?” Kaecilius asks, inserting himself into her conversation. “No one should be receiving special treatment here.”

“Unless you would like to see our comrades injured accidentally, it is best Mr. Stark trains alone,” Mordo answers in her stead.

“If he has the ability for magic, he’s hardly going to be too dangerous to be around. As he can’t summon magic yet, we have nothing to be concerned about,” her student argues, looking at her with furrowed brows.

“Regardless of how you see this arrangement, Kaecilius, I have decided it is the best course of action,” she says lightly, ending any further protests with a long stare.

She turns to take her leave, but before she does, she glances over her shoulder and says, “I have given Stark permission to wander the temple. Feel free to introduce yourself and help him should he ask. Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.”

The Ancient One leaves the dining hall with a small smile on her face.

Things were about to get more interesting at Kamar-Taj.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Barton Farm: That night: Saturday, October 30th ~8pm**

Natasha cradles Laura close as Clint’s muffled screams echo up from the basement. They had sent the kids to her mother’s house two days after arriving. She had to shove Clint in the cellar after Laura had caught Clint trying to leave in the QuinJet. The aircraft had locked down before he could even scan his ID in. Natasha wants to think FRIDAY did it, but she’s certain S-Tony did so after seeing where one of the Jets had gone off to.

There was no hiding from him if you’re anywhere near Stark Tech or anything he can gain access to.

“Why is this happening?” Laura whispers when Clint quiets down.

It’s never for long, but at least he gets a break between bouts of whatever he’s seeing.

Natasha isn’t so lucky.

She curls tighter around Laura when visions of past missions seem to come to life right there in the living room. Everyone she remotely remembered as a mark would play front and center. She knows they’re illusions brought on by the dying connection to Maximoff.

Doesn’t make them less horrifying. Doesn’t keep her from longing to take one of the guns Clint hides around the house to her head just to get them to stop. Certainly doesn’t prevent her from clinging to Laura every moment she gets and praying S-Tony will create something to help them cope when this is all over.

How the hell had S-Tony survived this on his own?

“Because we were careless and didn’t listen to S-Tony when he warned us,” she says, able to freely admit she’d miscalculated after two days of ‘brain-warp withdrawal’ as Clint had called it after New York.

“And why the hell didn’t you?” Laura snaps, nails digging into Natasha’s arm. “I thought he was immune. The SHIELD psychologist said so!”

“Laura,” Natasha begins to say when a vision takes her. “Just… give me a moment…”

“It has you too. Jesus, Nat,” she vaguely registers Laura saying.

She’s not much aware of reality for a while after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Kamar-Taj: Monday, November 2nd, 2015 12:30 pm**

Mordo wasn’t sure how to feel about Stark having access to magic, but he will not allow it to prevent him from performing his duty. Now, if only Stark would co-operate…

“If you’re moving, you’re not meditating,” he says, trying very hard not to allude to how annoyed he is after only one training.

Stark had not been able to sit still for any length of time beyond ten minutes. Some part of his body was always in motion or twitching every time Mordo looked to check on him.

“Ten minutes is the best you’re gonna get from me, Obi-Wan,” Stark says with a playfulness in his voice that sets his teeth on edge.

He’s never wanted to call out someone on their behavior so much in his entire life.

“How do you get anything done? It baffles my mind that you can invent marvels, but can’t sit still enough to meditate.”

“Look, BM, I am _never_ still, not even in my workshop. Meditation has never worked for me either. My mind won’t shut up unless I’m knocked unconscious, or I’ve drunk enough alcohol to kill my liver twice over.”

“I find it hard to believe you can’t-”

“Then you try doing it!” Stark snaps, all good humor gone.

Mordo only has a moment to see the blue glow of Stark’s eyes before his head explodes with… _noise_. Thoughts. So many ideas all running through his head with formulas and schematics for several different things he couldn’t understand all at once. As the ideas continue to race and solve themselves, moving on to other newer ones, restless energy settles into his muscles, his tendons.

He has to move _something_. Do something.

He pushes off the ground to do… something. Wait… he had been doing something. Or had he already done it?

He couldn’t _focus_.

His mind only focuses when he’s pushed to the ground, and someone holds him down by his shoulders when he tries to stand again.

“Look, Mordo, I’m sorry. I take it back. Can you _please_ just snap out of it? Or, you know, MyMa, my little bloodthirsty murder kitten, would you just _stop_ it with the taking me literally already?!”

Clarity and focus snap back into Mordo’s awareness, and he clutches his head as a blinding headache erupts at the loss of Stark’s thoughts.

“How… the _hell_ do you function?” he groans out.

“Considering I’ve had to deal with it since birth? Trial and error; testing; figuring out what works, what doesn’t,” Stark says, emphasizing the last part pointedly.

“So what do you do? I can’t comprehend how you can get anything done with all that… _noise_ constantly going on.”

Stark shrugs, “Well it's never been quiet enough to know any different… I’m never still? I can ignore it if I’m doing something, but sometimes the thoughts won’t be ignored, so I work on them while working on the armor or something.”

“That doesn’t sound productive.”

“FRIDAY takes notes and works on them until I get around to it. If you hadn’t noticed, I talk. When I talk, she takes notes of things vaguely related to a project. If they aren’t, sometimes she’ll even tell me to shut up.”

“I’ve done no such thing, Boss,” an Irish voice comes from the armor that stands nearby.

“I hope you pay that poor woman enough,” Mordo mumbles, rubbing his temples.

Stark is quiet, and that’s concerning enough that he cracks open an eye. The man is looking at him in confusion.

“Why would I pay her? She’s my A.I.”

Both of Mordo’s eyes open and it’s his turn to stare.

“Artificial Intelligence is not advanced enough to pass the Turing Test, Stark.”

“Have you been living under a rock?” Stark asks like Mordo has sprouted another head. “I’ve been creating A.I. since college. One of which very publicly tried to end humanity…”

“Yet Stark Industries did not put the technology on the market to get ahead before your recent one went out of control. Why is that?”

“Why would I give away my kids?!” the billionaire nearly screeches, putting himself between the armor and Mordo. “Do people give away their kids here? Is that what I signed up for?!”

Mordo blinks, eyes wide as he stares at the man who is standing protectively by the armor now.

“Aw, Boss, I knew ye cared.”

“Shush, I’m trying to keep you from being sold into slavery.”

“What in the world… Stark, no one here sells their children.”

“Then why are you suggesting I sell mine?!”

“I didn’t-” Mordo says, starting to panic when he stops himself, seeing that Stark is smirking at him. “ _You_ are a menace.”

“But I had you going,” the man says, a wide grin on his face before he pats the armor. “In all seriousness, they _are_ my kids. Even Ultron was before something corrupted him. That’s what the FBI found when they did their investigation. The U.N. is trying to come up with equal rights for A.I. now, so the people who create them can’t be held responsible if they go rogue if nothing in the programming indicates its the programmer’s fault. It’s an interesting process-”

“Stark, though I’m sure to find this interesting, we were in the middle of meditation,” Mordo cuts him off.

While what Stark has to say about the topic is interesting, as he said, they are in the middle of training. On top of that, the headache has evolved into a migraine and concentrating on what the genius is saying is only making it worse.

“Right,” Stark says, stepping over to Mordo and offering him a hand. “So give me something to do while you get rid of that migraine over in that dark corner.”

He points to an alcove in one of the walls of the temple.

“I don’t think-”

“You can hardly think right now, so don’t do that. Well, only long enough to give me something to do. Now chop, chop, we’re wasting daylight, and _you_ have a class to teach in two hours.”

With a resigned sigh, Mordo accepts Stark’s help onto his feet and explains a simple exercise for the man to try and consciously summon his magic. Meditation wasn’t working for a man like him. He leaves Stark to practice and makes himself comfortable in the alcove the man pointed out, watching his student as he lets his body try and rid itself of the migraine naturally before he uses mystical means.

Falling into a half meditative state, he smirks as he watches the man make ridiculous poses to try and bring forth his magic.

At least training the man won’t be entirely tedious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Barton Farm: November 19th, 2015, 3pm**

When Natasha had surfaced from the magic-induced hell six days ago, the first thing she had done was check on Clint and Laura. After that, she’d made sure the kids were still doing alright at their grandmother’s. Nathaniel had been returned to them due to Laura’s mother not being able to handle all three of them at once.

Since then, she’s been contacting anyone she can think of between flashbacks to find any information about Strucker, the human experimentation, Ultron’s creation, and Maximoff’s time with HYDRA. Maybe if she offers the information to S-Tony, it will begin to bridge the canyon whatever is going on made between him and the rest of the Avengers; between _them_.

She dives into the search and gathering of intel like she never did before. She doesn’t know what it is, but her gut is telling her that if she doesn’t do this, Tony will no longer treat her like the younger sibling he’s regretfully fond of. She hadn’t known she needed that until he’d given it despite everything she’s done. He hadn’t trusted her after the Avengers had formed and had only started treating her as a reluctant sibling shortly before the disaster the data dump turned out to be.

Because it wasn’t just HYDRA they burned, but hundreds of SHIELD agents and their families with them.

She had never seen Tony so furious in person as when he was ripping into her and Steve for that. For not calling him in. The harder Steve had tried to justify their decision, the more viciously Tony had torn apart his arguments until he’d left them both on the common floor with the rest of the Avengers looking at them. They felt like the lowest life forms on the planet. She felt like dirt when Clint had asked if any information on his family had leaked.

Gods, she hadn’t even _considered_ them before she had let all that information loose.

Clint didn’t speak with her for weeks after that.

Tony was much worse. The months following that disaster had been worse in regards to her and Steve’s relationship with the genius. The billionaire had forgiven Sam easily enough. He wasn’t a trained hacker like Natasha, and he wasn’t the one leading the charge and making decisions as Steve had been.

They were in the doghouse, and Tony let them know it. The cold gaze he had kept her and Steve under was unrelenting and painful after being given those fond looks he gave out like precious gems. After weeks of it, she was overcome with an emotion that never appeared for anyone but Clint, Coulson, and Laura whenever they were all gathered together.

She’d gotten jealous of everyone in Tony’s good favor.

What’s _worse_ is that she missed it. Missed the late night TV binges when either of them couldn’t sleep. Missed the way she could hold a bottle of nail polish in his face and he’d roll his eyes before grabbing it and moving his work aside so she could sit on the desk to have her toes painted when she visited between missions.

But what she missed, what she _craved_ , was what he’d given her; that she and the others had coveted like the emotionally dysfunctional weirdos they were; he’d taken away from her.

He’d been giving her and the others these affectionate kisses on their heads and cheeks. He’d give her one when she’d bring him coffee or had stolen the remote from Clint so they didn’t have to watch _Terminator_ for the twelfth time in a row, and she was _no longer getting them_. Not even an aborted one.

Her only condolence had been that Steve wasn’t getting them either.

It didn’t keep her from challenging Thor that one time after he’d cheated and got rights to give the last piece of bacon to the sleepy genius when he’d surfaced from his lab. The bastard had gotten a forehead kiss. Thor had been so excited that he’d punched a _hole_ in the reinforced wall and got _another_ one after he apologized profusely for the property damage.

She’s not ashamed to say -to herself- that she went to extreme lengths to get back into Tony’s good graces before Steve could. Natasha hadn’t even cared that Clint had teased her mercilessly while she was doing it. She wanted her brother back, damn it.

Remembering the active sabotage her platonic S.O. did to help Steve beat her caused her stare to shift onto Clint -who had been doing better the past few days- and glare. He raises his brows, proceeding to stuff his face with Laura’s pancakes despite it and stares back. This continues until there are no more pancakes to put in his mouth. With nothing to occupy his hands and face, he sighs, wiping his mouth and leaning on his hands in that cutesy pose he does when he thinks she’s acting like an adorable murder kitten -his words.

She’ll stab him with a knife later when they spar.

“Why are you glaring death at me this time, Tash?”

She makes him wait for a few moments more before she says, “I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“For what?”

“Steve 2014.”

His head slips off his hands to land forehead first onto the table with a loud _thunk_.

“Come _on_ , Tash!” he groans.

“I almost _lost_ , Barton!”

“Oh my fucking, _god_. If I’d known you’d hold a grudge this long for _that_ , I’d have never given Steve a leg up,” he grumbles into the table before lifting his head to stare at her darkly. “I _told_ you I didn’t realize how much you need them.”

“I don’t _need_ them,” she hisses.

Clint rolls his eyes. They both know she’s a lying liar that lies when it comes to her affection for her pseudo big brother.

“Though _why you’d want his-” Clint twitches as he snaps_ his mouth shut.

He’s been getting better at catching when the magic is influencing what he says about Tony. Especially after she’s thrown him to the ground several times. Natasha decides to let it slide this time since he didn’t finish his thought, but Clint isn’t that lucky. It doesn’t mean Laura decides to let it go. She glides over despite Nathaniel on her hip and stares down at Clint. She keeps looming and staring until Clint averts his eyes and apologizes.

She’s a firm believer in escalation punishment. Natasha’s not fond of it either, but it’s been helping them catch where their thoughts aren’t their own and trying to break out of whatever keeps them cycling back to the apathy or anger that rises when Tony is mentioned or thought about.

They still have a long way to go.

“Have your contacts found anything?” she asks her archer.

He shakes his head, “Not yet, but they’re still looking. I’m giving it till the end of the month before moving on.”

Natasha shifts her gaze to hide her frustration and disappointment. She’d been hoping that finding the information she wanted would be easy and removing the magical influence would be the tricky part. The information she’d discovered about the investigation into Ultron was the only information that was easy to find. It was on the U.N. website for everyone to see. The details she was interested in were only marginally elusive, but when she located them, well… there’s more than one reason as to why she wants all the information on Maximoff that she can get her hands on.

She had initially estimated it might take them a month, maybe two to be clear of the magic and have enough information to toss at Tony like a sacrificial offering. However, at the rate things are moving, it’s going to be a lot longer than two months.

“I’ll contact Maria and see what she can get us,” he follows up with.

“What makes you think Tony doesn’t already have any information she gives us?”

A memory pokes at her before her mind latches onto it while she waits for Clint’s solution. The Winter Soldier’s file. One mission in particular. But Steve would have told Tony by now as he’d promised…

“Ask for information he doesn’t have and offer up some freebies?” Clint offers, shrugging when she rolls her eyes at him.

“Maria’s been Tony’s right hand since he decided to take over the initiative. After he rescued who he could following the data dump, she became more loyal to him than to Fury. I’m still on her shit list with Steve, so I doubt she’d take anything I offer.”

“What about Fury?”

“Not answering my calls since it hit the news that we were seen exiting Stark Tower with an Iron Man escort.”

“Wait, what? That was in the news?”

Natasha nods, reaching over to a discarded paper on the table, flipping pages before sliding it over to Clint.

She knows what it says. In-fighting between Tony and Steve have made things volatile, and an argument had split them down the middle. The Avengers that left were the ones on Steve’s side while the rest were on Tony’s. To keep Stark Industries employees safe, Tony had asked them to remove themselves from the building until a time where they can come to an agreement and reconcile. Some articles put a heavy emphasis on his actions to keep his employees in the loop and safe. Others were vilifying him for kicking Captain America out of New York despite the Compound still being in the state.

Tony could never win for losing it seemed.

It wasn’t an ideal reason, but it was one that wouldn't cause mass panic if it got out that one of their own might be using her powers to manipulate the rest of them against Iron Man. Against Tony, who’d been claimed by New Yorkers as one of their own. They got vicious when certain news channels tried to shit on him. That was nothing on how volatile the feud between California and New York was as to Tony’s citizenship. Both states had laid claim to the billionaire, and Tony was just precocious enough to live in both states equally to be considered a dual citizen, which didn’t help the feud at all.

She doesn’t want to be in New York should they do something to drive him back to California permanently.

When Clint puts the paper down, he rubs his face harshly as he slumps in his chair.

“Could have been worse,” he sighs, taking Nate from Laura -who had been hovering nearby listening in- who had drifted over.

Natasha couldn’t blame her. There was a high possibility that anyone could find the information on her and the kids. With her and Clint out of commission more often than not right now, she’s praying to Thor that no one finds anything and comes for them.

“Yeah…”

Natasha just hopes that the situation doesn’t get worse before they’re all back together.

The sinking feeling in her gut makes it hard for the at hope to grow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Kamar-Taj: November 30th, 11:02 am**

“Stark! I told you to _hold_ it not throw it!”

“What was that? Throw it harder? Well if you insist!”

“No!”

A small explosion shakes the main temple. From beside the Ancient One, Wong sighs before leaving the room. Her lips twitch as her eyes read the text in one of their many tomes -she’s been researching, trying to find out how Stark’s magic came to be in more detail. It’s amusing to listen to and watch Mordo and Wong try and wrangle Stark and get him to do what they say. It becomes more entertaining when the man feigns misunderstanding them and deliberately causes mayhem.

She suspects Stark has learned and mastered more than he lets on after the first three weeks of silent rebellion against magic and his ability to harness it. It was in the last week that he seemed to have given up on denying his affinity for the mystic arts and embraced it as only a scientist could, but with more childish wonder than she’d ever seen in a grown man.

It also unleashed the ungodly combination of magic and engineering in the form of pranks and mischief the likes of which no student has ever dared try. It was good practice for Wong and Mordo. Their next student would be just as resistant at first, but _far_ less of a menace once he embraces his gift.

“Wong! Care to join us for Magic Baseball?”

“We aren’t playing a game, Stark!”

“But your way is boring. This is more fun.”

“Would you stop-”

Another explosion goes off.

“Are you trying to destroy the temple?” comes Wong’s voice.

“No. He’s not catching the ball like he’s supposed to,” Stark says, a definite petulant tone in his voice.

“You can’t _catch_ magic, only deflect, redirect, or dispell,” Mordo snaps.

A moment of silence.

“That’s just stupid. If something mystical can physically affect the world, you can do more than that to it.”

“Mordo is right, Stark. Magic is too volatile to harness if it isn’t your conjuration. Catching someone’s spell would be unwise for anyone.”

“So you’re telling me no one knows how to catch magic and use it against the other guy?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mordo says, sounding more stressed than she's ever heard him be.

“That is correct,” Wong says in tandem with Mordo.

Another pause before Stark says, “Is the only way you guys learn about magic through books and the lessons?”

Another pause.

“Thor almighty, you poor unimaginative souls. Neither of you has experimented with any of it?”

“We practice different ways to harness magic,” Wong says.

“Right… Alright, Obi-Wan, throw something at me.”

“You can’t be serious…”

“As a rampaging bilgesnipe. Come on it’ll be fun.”

“Fun?!”

“You’re tossing magic at the asshole who was chunking magic bombs at you, how’s that _not_ fun?”

“You’re insane.”

“Jury’s still out. Come on; it’s for science! Or are you too afraid to hurt little ol’ me?”

“That’s not the-”

“Or can you not get it up? You know they say that-”

Stark’s voice cuts off, and the Ancient One worries for only a moment before remembering his magic wouldn’t allow any _real_ harm to fall upon the man; not as long as a Reactor is nearby. The man’s ecstatic laughter echoing around the temple relives the tiny part of her that hadn’t been assured by his magic’s strength.

“Yes!” the man crows. “I have just proven that you _can_ catch magic spells.”

The man yelps and another explosion shakes the temple.

“I need a little more practice, but -hey! Watch where you’re throwing that!”

“You said you need more practice, Stark,” Mordo says, chuckling darkly. “I’m just facilitating.”

“Asshole!”

The explosions continue until the next group lesson.

**Author's Note:**

> Any criticism and advice is appreciated. Flames, however will be ignored, I'm not here to cater to delicate sensibilities after all.
> 
> If you wanna chat, ask questions, etc. hit me up on my [Tumblr.](https://konoriart.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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